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Sophy 

Carmine 


JOHN STRANGE WINTER. 


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■j> , 

Sophy Carmine, 


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SOPHY OAEMINE. 


CHAPTER I. 

MES. FEKKEES’ AEKANGEMENTS. 

It was getting near Christmas-time and the 
mistress of Ferrers Court was busily occupied in 
arranging her party for the festive season. 

It was always a busy time with Mrs. Ferrers. 
There was her ovai not very small household to 
look after — her six children, and all the servants 
and dependents about the place to each of whom, 
in accordance with a time-honored custom estab- 
lished years and years ago when Captain Ferrers 
had been the most popular officer in the Scarlet 
Lancers, must be given a Christmas present, con- 
veyed with some sort of surprise of her own in- 
vention, which should be a secret to everybody 
but the giver until the moment of giving it should 
come. 

Then the house was always filled with visitors, 
and this year their party was one which in a 
manner had come by chance, for their nearest 


4 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


neighbors — the Landovers of Landover Castle, 
nine miles away — had had a misfortune with the 
drains of that palatial mansion, the entire organ- 
ization having gone grievously wrong after the 
manner of large country houses and show places. 

The Landovers had thus been prevented from 
having their usual gathering, and Captain Fer- 
rers had suggested to his wife that they should 
put them up for a week or two. 

“ Mignon does dislike Jane Landover so, 
Algy,” objected Mrs. Ferrers, who was rather by 
way of liking Mrs. Landover herself. 

“ Well she did before she was married, dar- 
ling,” answered Captain Ferrers — “ but then that 
was natural enough, for Jane Carmine really did 
make a bit of a set at Lucy, and of course 
Mignon couldn’t stand that. But now that 
they’re both married it will be quite different — 
Mrs. Landover of Landover will look down on 
Major Lucy’s wife Fve no doubt, all the more 
because she once had a fancy for being Major 
Lucy’s wife herself.” 

“Well, of course. I’ll ask them if you wish it, 
Algy,” Mrs. Ferrers said, cheerfully — “ I always 
get on very well with Jane Landover. Anyway 
I have already written to Sophy — I ‘wrote at once- 
when I found that Jane had been obliged to put 
the visit off, and she comes to us on the same 
day she would have gone to them.” 

“ That’s all right. And who are you going to 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


ask besides?” asked Captain Ferrers with in- 
terest. 

“ Well, there will be General Coles, and 
Captain Brookes, and j^our friend Colonel Kerr, 
and Mr. Alleyne ; and I think that is all, Algy.” 

General Coles was just home after five years’ 
service in India, and was an old friend of Captain 
Ferrers, or, as everyone called him, “ Booties.” 
Colonel Kerr was also an old friend, in fact, an 
older friend, though he was a younger man than 
the General, and, like him, was just home from 
India, having come on sick-leave and sorely 
against his inclinations. Brookes was not very 
far up the list of Captains in the Black Horse ; 
and Tommy Alleyne was an exceedingly popular 
juan in Town, who had been in the service for a 
few months, and, having got sick of the sameness 
and dreariness of life in country quarters, had, 
one fine morning, after an extra hard time in the 
riding-school, sent in his papers, drifted to Lon- 
don, and gone on the stage, where he had found a 
calling, which, to use his own language, suited 
him down to the ground. 

Then, in addition to these, were Major and Mrs- 
Lucy, who almost always spent their long leave 
at the Court, which to Mrs. Lucy meant home — 
for before her marriage, two years previously, she 
had been Mignon Ferrers, though she was not 
Captain Ferrers’ own daughter, but the child of 
his wife by a former marriage. 


G 


SOPHY CABMINE. 


“But I say, my dearest,” said Booties to his 
wife, when she had thus counted her chickens, 
“ aren't you going to ask any more girls ? ” 

“ Not just yet, dear,” said Mrs. Booties, gently, 
yet with decision. 

“ But, darling,” Booties ejaculated, in utter dis- 
may, “ all these fellows — Coles, Kerr, Brookes, 
and Alleyne — and nobody but Sophy Carmine 
to meet them ? ” 

“Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Booties, evidently 
not prepared to alter her plans in the least. 

“ If it had been any ordinary girl,” Booties 
went on, blankly, “ of course it wouldn’t matter 
— but Sophy Carmine ! Why — why, it’s down- 
right cruelty.” 

“ But, Algy dear, I do want to do something 
for poor Sophy,” Mrs. Booties explained. “ She 
really has never had a chance before, for Jane 
always took care that she didn’t get one before 
she was married, and she has never done any- 
thing for her since. And a great shame it is, 
with her income and such a husband as Geoffry 
Landover, and no children or anything; and so I 
thought, as Sophy was coming to us for Christ- 
mas this year, I would see what I could do to get 
her settled.” 

Captain Ferrers burst into a great good- 
humored laugh. “You’ve set yourself a nice 
task, little woman,” he cried — “ a nice task. I 
wonder how it will work ? ” 


SOPHY CABAfINE. 


7 


“ Oh, we shall see,” Mrs. Ferrers answered. 
“ I don’t despair at all. Sophy is ver^ nice when 
you get to know her ; she is worth fifty Jane 
Landovers any day. And, somehow, Algy, I 
don’t know what she has been doing to herself, 
but, really, I thought she looked quite pretty the 
last time she was in Hill Street.” 

“ I didn’t see her,” said Booties, with meaning. 

“Well, but I did, and I couldn’t tell what it 
was, but there’s something different about her — 
she is improved anyway. And, poor girl, she 
must have a very uncomfortable time now that 
their mother is married. I really should like to 
see Sophie settled in a good home of her 
own.” 

“ And which of them is to be the victim ? ” 
Booties asked teasingly. “ I don’t suppose old 
Coles will have altered very much since we were 
quartered together at Blankhampton — he used 
to have a deuce of an eye for a pretty face. Kerr 
won’t marry — at least, I hardly think so — and 
Lester Brookes has seen Sophy Carmine before. 
So there’s only Tommy Alleyne left, and if you 
think a man with Tommy’s opportunities is likely 
to fall a victim to Sophy Carmine’s charms, well, 
all I can say is, that I don’t believe it is very 
likely.” 

“Oh! well, we shall see,” returned Mrs. 
Booties, not in tlie least shaken by his arguments 
or convinced that her little arrangements would 


8 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


probably all be made in vain. “ And if the men 
do seem to find it a little dull, it will give me 
the chance of asking Fraulein and Miss Maitland 
down now and then. They are really both of 
them very good, and they don’t get much of a 
time on the whole.” 

“ Oh ! well, of course you know best,” cried 
Booties with a laugh. “It won’t make an}'- dif- 
ference to me — not the very least in the world.” 

Well, the days went on and the twenty-second 
of December came round; it was soft muggy 
weatlier such as made the men wild about hunt- 
ing and set the women wondering if measles or 
scarlatina might not very soon become the order 
of the day. There was no meet, however, within 
reach of Ferrers Court that day, and Captain 
Ferrers came down to breakfast at nine o’clock 
wearing ordinary light-colored clothes. 

“Is there a letter from Mignon, darling? ” he 
inquired of his wife who sat fair and serene op- 
posite to him. 

“Yes” — Mrs. Ferrers answered — “they will 
be at Eccles at four o’clock, dear.” 

“ Are you going to meet them ? ” 

“ I don’t think so — my throat feels a little sore 
still,” she replied. “But I believe Pearl and 
Maud are dying to go.” 

“ All right. By the by, what day are the 
handovers coming ? ” 

“ To-morrow, dear.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


9 


“All right. Well, I shall be rather busy this 
morning — I’ve got to hear all Terry’s arrange- 
ments.” 

“ I have plenty to do myself,” said Mrs. Fer- 
rers smiling. 

The door was pushed open and the two eldest 
of the six Ferrers children came in — Pearl twelve 
years old, Maud a step younger, both tall, hand- 
some, sweet-faced and sweet-mannered children, 
fair and blue-eyed, with ruddy golden curls. 

“ Father,” said Pearl, — Pearl was always the 
spokeswoman — “ you’ve got a new hunter, 
haven’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, my woman — what about it ? ” Booties 
asked. 

“Well, Maud and I want to go and see it. 
Can we? Are you going to the stables? Can 
we go with you ? ” 

“ To be sure. Ah ! ” — with a make-believe 
groan — “ it’s an awful thing when a man suffers 
from misfortunes of flesh as I do. I’m half a 
stone heavier than I was when Mignon was mar- 
ried — and my hunters cost me fifty guineas a- 
piece more in consequence.” 

“Well, but father, you shouldn’t laugh so 
much,” said Pearl in a very wise tone. 

“ I don’t know that I do laugh more then the 
ordinary run of people,” Captain Ferrers replied. 
“ But supposing I do, what has that to do with 
it.” 


10 


SOPHY CAR3nNE. 


“ Humphie says that laughing makes you grow 
fat,” Pearl informed him. 

“ No, Humphie says,” — broke in Maud, who 
was always ready to give chapter and verse in 
support of any argument put forward by her 
sister — “ whenever any of us laugh more than 
usual, Humphie says always ‘ Laugh and grow 
fat, my lamb.’ That’s exactly what Humphie 
says.” 

“ And what a lot Humphie must have laughed 
in her time,” chuckled Booties, thinking of the 
vast expanse round the old nurse’s waist and the 
general extensiveness of her person. 

“We went into Sophy’s room on our way 
down, mother,” said Pearl, “and she slept very 
well and is enjoying her breakfast enormously^ 

“ That is all right,” said Mrs. Ferrers, 

“And she is coming down for luncheon” — 
Pearl went on, “ she is very tired this morning — 
Stop, stop, father, wait for us,” she broke off as 
Booties went out of the room. 

In a moment the three had departed, and Mrs. 
Ferrers went off for a consultation with the 
housekeeper and to attend to other matters which 
would keep her well occupied till lunch-time. 
And upstairs, Sophy Carmine was taking a judi- 
cious rest after her ten hours’ journey from the 
far north, not wishing — although she knew that 
she was no beauty — to appear at greater disadvant- 
age than need be against her sister, Mrs. Land- 


SOPHY CABMINE. 


11 


over, when slie arrived the following clay ; for 
Mrs. Lanclover had at all times on her side the 
advantages of youth, to the extent of three 
years, a certain prettiness of person and an 
enormous allowance for dress — advantages, let 
me tell you, that are none of them to be despised 
in that race wherein “ Trifles make^ perfection.” 


CHAPTER II. 

SOPHY CARMINE. 

When Sophy Carmine made her appearance 
at luncheon. Booties found himself scanning her 
curiously every now and then, having his wife’s 
little plans for the young lady’s future in his 
mind. 

He admitted to himself that Mrs. Booties had 
been quite right in her declaration that Sophy 
had improved in the liiatter of looks ; that cer- 
tainly was so, though he could not tell how or in 
what partioular feature the improvement was. 
Yet without doubt there was an improvement, 
Sophy looked brighter and less acid than he had 
been accustomed to fancy her, and her figure too 
looked rounder and more pliable than of yore. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder if Nell doesn’t manage it 
after all,” said Booties within himself — “ I dare 


12 


SOPHY CARMINK 


say it is getting from under Madam Jane’s thumb. 
It must have made a wonderful difference to her, 
Jane marrying a man like Landover.” 

Yet he kept looking at her again and again — 
surely there was something more material than 
mere expression that had wrought this change in 
Mrs. Landover’s sister. He could not make it 
out. It was not paint — no, for slie was sitting 
full in the not very becoming light of the wintry 
day and, beyond a little powder perhaps, he 
could see that her face was innocent of that 
kind of beauty ; the previous evening at dinner 
he had fancied that the improvement must be 
due to that — now, however, in the full light of 
day, he acknowledged that there must be some 
other cause for the change. “ And I wonder 
now,” he chuckled to himself, “ which of them it 
will be.” 

“Mignon and Major Lucy come to-day, do 
they not ? ” Sophy asked at that moment. 

“ Yes — at four o’clock,” Mrs. Ferrers an- 
swered. 

“ Do you care to come with me to meet them. 
Miss Carmine ? ” asked Booties, civilly. 

Sophy looked doubtful. “Are you going, 
INIrs. Ferrers?” she asked. 

“No, dear, my throat is scarcely quite the 
thing yet.” 

“We are going, Maud and I,” struck in 
Pearl. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


13 


“ Who said you were going ? ” laughed her 
father. 

“ Well, I don’t think anybody said we were,” 
Pearl replied, “ but nobody said we were not.” 

“ A clear case of logical deduction,” laughed 
Booties gayly. 

“What is logical deduction, father?” Pearl 
demanded. 

“ Logical deduction — oh ! well, it’s — ” 

“ It’s what Mignon has in her handwriting.” 
put in Maud —“Oh ! yes, father, I do know, 
because the very last time Mr. Landover and 
Jane were staying here, mother was saying one 
day that Mignon very seldom took a dislike to 
anyone, but that when she did there was always 
a good reason for it, even when the dislike came 
before the reason. And Jane Landover said — 
‘Oh ! logical deduction is a great quality with 
Mignon — her handwriting shows it plainly !, 
I said at once to Jane that it was all nonsense, 
for Mignon writes a beautiful hand. But Jane 
said that had nothing whatever to do with it.” 

The child’s tone was so exact an imitation of 
the Mistress of Landover’s tart accents, that 
Booties got up in haste and went to get himself 
some more bread at the sideboard, although there 
were two servants in the room who could have 
brought it in answer to a look. Sophy, on the 
contrary, laughed immoderately. 

“ Why, what a little quiz Maud is — it was 


14 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


Jane’s tone to the very life, Jane’s tone when 
she is not altogether in her very best humor 
either. I see I shall have to mind my P’s and Q’s 
when you are about, young lady.” 

“ But Jane did say that exactly,” cried Maud, 
who liad not intended to imitate Mrs. Landover 
by any means, but only wished to give an exact 
account of what she had said on the subject of 
logical deduction. 

“ Of course Jane said just that — we none of us 
dispute it,” cried Sophy Carmine with a good- 
natured laugh. 

Maud looked wonderingly at her with her big 
honest blue eyes, and shook her ruddy golden 
curls in genuine perplexity — “ Do you think she 
knows what she’s talking about? ” she murmured 
in an undertone to Pearl. 

“ She was the cat’s mother,” said Pearl with 
severity. 

At the other end of the table the master of the 
house was speaking — “ Then you don’t care for 
the drive to-day, Miss Carmine ? ” 

“ I think I would rather stay quietly at home,” 
she answered. “I was so awfully tired yester- 
day, it was such a long journey; yes, I should 
like to get rested before Jane and her husband 
come.” 

So in due time Captain Ferrers went off with 
the break — the omnibus that is — to meet Mignon 
and Major Lucy, and beside him on the box 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


15 


instead of Sophy Carmine, he had liis two charm- 
ing little daughters, who were wild with excite- 
ment at the prospect of seeing their sister again. 

It was always a great joy to Captain Ferrers 
to have his children about him. He loved listen- 
ing to tlieir wise remarks and hearing their child- 
ish philosophy, often such wise philosophy, oh, 
my friends. They were talking then. 

“ I can’t think,” said Maud, “ why Mr. Land- 
over wanted to go and marry Jane Carmine. 
Sophy is ever so much nicer, and she isn’t much 
worse looking than Jane, is she? ” 

“Not much,” answered Pearl, tucking her 
hands more comfortably under the bearskin rug. 
“ After a bit I shouldn’t wonder if she doesn’t 
get much the prettiest of the two. She’s got two 
new teeth since she was here before.” 

“ By Jove, that’s it,” exclaimed Booties in an 
ecstasy of discovery. 

“ /She was the cat’s mother,” remarked Maud 
with withering scorn, not having forgotten the 
same rebuke administered to her at luncheon 
tliat day. 

“Yes, I know — I told you that,” returned 
Pearl with quiet disdain — Pearl could be very 
disdainful when she chose — “ But I meant Sophy 
Carmine, of course. Sophy used to have much 
uglier teeth than Jane, at least those two at the 
front stuck out much further — but, somehow, I 
think when Jane gets liers changed, they won’t 


16 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


be as much improvement to her as Sophy’s are.” 

“ Father,” cried Maud in a puzzled tone and 
without staying to answer Pearl’s remarks — “ Do 
you know where people buy sets of eyelashes ? ” 

“ Sets of eyelashes,” repeated Booties in aston- 
ishment — “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, you go to the dentist’s for sets of teeth ” 
— she replied — “ Mr. Carpenter told me so the 
very last time I liad a tooth pulled out myself, 
for I asked him what any one would do if he 
pulled out all their teeth, and he said — ‘ Put a 
new set in, little lady. But all the same, I 
can’t think where people go to buy sets of eye- 
lashes.” 

“ Who does have sets of eyelashes ? ” asked 
Booties, not gathering any idea of her meaning. 

“ Oh ! Sophy Carmine has several sets,” ex- 
plained Maud blandly. 

“ What?” said Booties. 

“Yes, she has ! For I saw Margaret this morn- 
ing taking her letters up to her room — Margaret 
waits on Sophy, you know — and I offered to take 
them in to her. And Margaret said — ‘ Thank- 
you, Miss INIaud, I’m sure,’ and so I took the 
letters in to Sophy’s room ; one was from Jane 
handover, and Sophy just looked at it and said 
— ‘ Oh ! lor ! What next I wonder? ’ — and the 
other was from Redfern’s to say her new gown 
would be here to-morrow at the latest— Sophy 
told me so. It’s a blue velvet gown with cut 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


17 


steel buttons. I think Sophy will look lovely 
in it.” 

“ And about the eye-lashes,” put in Booties, 
finding that Maud had wandered away from the 
subject wliich had most interest for him just 
then. 

“ Oh ! Sophy was wearing a set of white 
ones,” Maud replied in a perfectly matter-of-fact 
tone. 

“ Eh ? ” Booties ejaculated blankly. 

“Yes, white ones — at least yellowish white,” 
Maude explained with great accuracy. “ And 
when she came down to lunch she had put on 
black ones. She looks much better in black 
ones ; if I were Sophy I would never wear white 
ones again — they don’t suit her at all.” 

For a moment Booties was strongly tempted 
to go off into agonies of laughter ; but he had a 
chivalrous nature and the bread-and-salt feeling 
was always very strong in him. Besides he felt 
that it would not do to set his little quick-witted 
daughters the example of turning his guest’s 
personal appearance into ridicule ; yet to tell 
the truth it was a hard struggle, and for a few 
minutes he could not trust himself to speak. 
Maud, n the contrary, who had not the very 
smallest idea of ridiculing Sophy Carmine or 
anybody else, and was bent only on giving him 
an exact account of what had taken place con- 
cerning her eyelashes, went innocently on. 


18 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ If I was Sophy Carmine, I would never wear 
white ones again, not even to sleep in ; but per- 
haps they’re cheaper you know.” 

“ I’ll tell you what I think,” said Booties, 
finding his voice at last and putting on the most 
proper, not to say severe, manner he could as- 
sume — “ and that is, that you had better not say 
anything or think anything about it at all. Miss 
Carmine would not be very pleased if she knew 
that she was being talked about like this and all 
the secrets of her toilette were being brought to 
light.” 

“ But it isn’t a secret at all,” objected Pearl, 
who had now got the reins and was giving most 
of her attention to the horses — “ because I was 
telling Fanchette about it this morning and she 
seemed to know all about it — ‘ Pooh ! Mad’moi- 
selle Pair!,’ she said quite contemptibly — ‘ Zare 
is nozing in zat — it is quite easy — put a ’air-pin 
in ze gas and zare you are.’ I did put a hair- 
pin in the gas, but it didn’t do anything to my 
eyelashes — they aren’t a bit different to what 
they were yesterday ” — and then she gave her 
attention to the horses again and had evidently 
nothing further to say upon the subject. 

Booties positively roared ! But when he had had 
his laugh, the chivalrous bread-and-salt feeling 
began to come back, and he made haste to — as 
he put it — “shove a moral in.” 

“Well, you’d better not talk about it to any 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


19 


one else, not even to Fanchette,” he said. “It 
isn’t exactly polite, you know, to go and talk 
about what you see in people’s bedrooms — nobody 
is supposed to know anything about it ; you see 
you might just get hold of a wrong idea or a 
wrong story and happen to tell it to the wrong 
person, so if I were you both, I would just keep 
on the right side and not say a word to a single 
soul.” 

“Then we won’t, father — not to a single 
soul,” they cried in one breath. 

They were by that time within, sight of the 
station and Booties held out his hands for the 
reins. 

“ 1 can manage it,” Pearl said, confidently. 

“Can you? Pull in a little then,” he an- 
swered. 

In two minutes they had turned out of the 
main road into the short one leading to the sta- 
tion, and Pearl had triumphantly brought the 
horses to a stand-still. 

“ Uncommonly well handled,” was her father’s 
comment, whereupon Pearl gravely got down 
and went on to the platform feeling quite proud 
of herself. 

The first person she saw was Mr. Callum, the 
station-master, with whom she and Maud were 
great favorites, and to him she addressed her- 
self. 

“ Good afternoon, Mr. Callum,” she remarked — 


20 


SOPHY CAEMINE. 


“ I suppose the train won’t be very long now ? ” 

“ Not very long', mem,” returned Mr. Callum — 
“I hope the Mistress is braw and bonny 'the 
day?” 

“ Yes, thank you, Mr. Callum — Mother is quite 
well,” returned Pearl politely. 

“ But mother’s tliroat is not at all well,” said 
Maud, aghast at Pearl’s inaccuracy. 

“ Mother has had a sore throat ” — said Pearl 
with dignity — “ but she only stayed in because 
she thought it was a risk to come out. Nobody 
could call mother ill to-day, Maud.” 

“ Eh, but I’m sorry the Mistress has been out 
of sorts, mem,” put in the station-master with 
much concern. “ Eh, but I think the weather is 
most consairned in it. I bear in mind, the auld 
saying — “ A green yule-tide maks a full kirk- 
yaird. Noo, if I might mak a suggaastion to the 
Mistress ” 

“ There’s the train,” exclaimed Pearl, pointing 
along the line. 

“ May I inquire if it is Miss Mignon that 
you’re expecting, mem ? ” asked Mr. Callum, 
who, like every one else about the neighborhood 
of Ferrers Court, fairly worshipped Mignon — 

“ Mrs. Lucy, I should say.” 

“ Yes — and Major Lucy too. They are coming . 
for two months,” Pearl replied. 

“Well, not exactly two months — leave is 
always measured by days,” corrected Maud. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


21 


“ Major Lucy’s last long leave was fifty-six days, 
and I should think this will be the same.” 

“ But they always call it two months,” Pearl 
declared. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE PRICE OF EXPERIENCE. 

Mignon, dear child,” said Captain Ferrers to 
Mrs. Lucy, “I wonder if you would mind wait- 
ing twenty minutes for the down-train ?” 

“Not a bit, dear,” returned Mignon promptly. 
“ I’ll go in and see Mrs. Callum. Who is coming 
by the down-train ? ” 

“General Coles — old Coles, you know. You’ll 
remember him at Blankhampton,” he answered. 

“ What, ‘ Ta, Ta? ’ ” laughed Mignon. 

“ The same,” cried Booties, laughing too. 

“ That was the old chap who invawriably wre- 
membered everything the day before yesterday,” 
remarked Major Lucy. 

“ But how could he remember anything the 
day before yesterday,” said Pearl rather blankly, 
while IMaud stood by with wide-eyed amazement 
wondering how anybody could explain the truth 
of such an assertion as this. 

Lucy laughed good-naturedly. 

“ Ah ! I see I am going to be on the gwrill 
for the next two months with you two accu- 


22 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


wrate young ladies. I meant to say that 
Colonel Coles had always heard evewrything 
the day before yesterday — Genewral Coles I 
mean.” 

“ But how could he hear if it only happened 
to-day ? ” exclaimed Pearl, thoroughly puzzled. 

“ Oh ! that makes no diffewrence,” explained 
Major Lucy blandly. 

“ Things that don’t make any difference are 
very awkward to understand,” observed Maud 
plaintively. “ Seems to me it's like Mignon’s 
handwriting — it is and it isn’t. Pearl, I vote we 
go and see Mr. Callum’s dog.” 

So the two little ladies went off to see Mr. 
Callum’s dog, and Mrs. Lucy (how odd it seems 
to call Mignon “ Mrs. Lucy ”) went in to have a 
chat with the station-master’s wife, to drink a 
glass of sweet and sticky port, and to have the 
real home-made Christmas-cake cut in her honor, 
and, whether she would or no, have a great 
wedge thereof pushed on to her plate and, Mrs. 
Callum being a North-country woman, also a gen- 
erous helping of cheese from a prime Cheshire, to 
eat with it. 

Now Mignon knew Mrs. Callum's Christmas- 
cake of old, and tried hard to get off the honor 
thus unexpectedly thrust upon her. 

“ Half — no, a quarter of that, Mrs. Callum, 
please^'" she entreated. “ Remember I’m not the 
great hungry child I used to be. No, not any 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


23 


cheese, Mrs. Callum — -I know it’s just lovely, but 
I’d so much rather eat the cake by itself.” 

“ Oh ! I couldn’t let you pay me a visit at 
Chris-a-mas time. Miss Mignon,” the station- 
master’s wife said hospitably, “ and not cut the 
cake for you — I’m only proud to have the chance. 
It won’t hurt you. Miss Mignon — there, what am 
I saying? Mrs. Lucy, ma’am, I should say. I’m 
sure I ask your pardon.” 

“ It doesn’t matter, Mrs. Callum,” Mignon pro- 
tested — “ but no cheese, please, and do take half 
this cake back.” 

“It won’t hurt you, ma’am ; its Jiome-made^' 
returned Mrs. Callum, with a proud air. “ I can 
recommend it, for I made it myself ; so I know 
just what’s in it.” 

So did Mignon — from a bitter, or, I should 
more correctly say, a stodgy experience of the 
past ; but she saw that Mrs. Callum was deter- 
mined to make her partake of a full measure of 
her hospitality ; so she resigned herself to the 
inevitable, and, with an inward shudder, set her 
pretty white teeth into the uncompromising 
wedge of cake reposing on a very gaudy dessert- 
plate before her. Suddenly a bright idea came 
into her mind. She knew that it would be use- 
less to explain that there would be afternoon tea 
when they reached the Court, and that her mother 
would certainly be disappointed if she were able 
to eat nothing ; but if she could nibble at her cake 


24 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


instead of eating it, and could put the time on 
until the down-train came into the station ; she 
could plead not liking to keep the horses waiting 
any longer, and eat the rest on the way home. 
Bright idea! Happy thought! 

“Are the little ladies here?” Mrs. Callum 
asked, in surprise, as Pearl and Maud went past 
the window. “ Eh ! but I must fetch them in for 
a bit of cake,” and away she bustled to the door, 
all excitement at having so many distinguished 
visitors. 

Mrs. Lucy, I must confess, took the opportu- 
nity of disposing of the piece of cheese, which 
she dropped into an old envelope, and slipped 
into the pocket of her sealskin coat. 

“A little bit more cheese, ma’am,” suggested 
Mrs. Callum, as she bustled back again and saw 
that Mignon’s plate was empty. 

“ Not for the world — thanks,” cried Mignon, 
feeling very guilty and blushing a little. 

“Now, little ladies,” said Mrs. Callum, turn- 
ing to the two children, “ sit you down, dears, 
and I’ll cut you a good slice of cake each. It’s 
my own make, and won’t hurt you. I know 
where the sweet-tooths are.’ ’ 

Maud, after a look at the cake, cast a glance 
full of meaning at Pearl. 

“ Poor children, I don’t see how they are to get 
out of it,” said Mignon to herself. 

But Pearl was more than equal to the occa- 


SOPHY CAEMINE. 


25 


sion. “ Thank you very much, Mrs. Callum,” 
she said, politely ; “ but mother does not like us 
to have rich cake without leave. If you could 
give us a piece of spice-bread each, we may have 
that.” 

“ Oh ! my dears,” cried the station-master’s 
wife quite in a flutter of pride, “ I should never 
have thought of offering you my spice-bread — 
but if you think the Mistress ” 

“ I’m sure mother wouldn’t let us eat such 
rich cake as yours is if she were here,” Pearl 
replied. “ We may have the spice-bread, and 
we like it just as well. And we’re awfully hun- 
giy,” she ended. 

“We like it a great deal better,” cliimed in 
Maud, who, poor child, had been hard driven 
between her love of plain honest truth and her 
innate and cultivated politeness. 

“ These children are ten times as clever as I 
was at their age,” ran Mignon’s thoughts. “ I 
should have eaten the stuff if I’d killed m3^self 
with it,” — and then to her joy the train ran in 
and her time of penance was over. 

“ There it is ! How glad they will be not to 
keep the horses waiting any longer. No, I won’t 
wait to finish my cake, thanks, Mrs. Callum. I’ll 
take it with me. Come, dears, don't keep father 
waiting. Good-bye, Mrs. Callum, a real merry 
Christmas to you. Mind you don’t kill Mr. 
Callum with so many good things.” 


26 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Bless you, Mrs. Lucy, ma’am, Mr. Callum 
never so much as tastes the cake from Chris-a- 
mas to Chris-a-mas — he says there’s no sort of 
satisfaction in such stuff. And you’ll give my 
duty to the Mistress? Eh! bless you, my dear, 
it’s a treat to see your bonny face again, that 
it is.” 

“ Good-bye, good-bye,” cried Mignon. 

She had still nearly the whole of the great 
wedge of cake in her hand when she went out to 
meet the new arrival. General Coles. 

“ Why Mignon, my pet,” cried Booties, look- 
ing at it comically. 

“ I hadn’t time to eat it, dear,” she replied. 
“ Am I going to sit by you ? ” 

“ To be sure. General, how will you go ? ” 

“ Inside,” replied the General promptly. “ I 
can’t get warm anywhere., but the inside must be 
warmer than the outside.” 

“ That’s so. Wait till we get you to the Court, 
we’ll make you warm enough. The wife’s got a 
bedroom for you that is heated by hotair — kee[)s 
at one temperature all day and night. And, by- 
the-bye, she sent a hot-water tin for 3^0111- special 
benefit — yes, here it is. Do you mind going 
alone? You can smoke, 3^011 know.” 

Mignon was already in her place, and as 
Booties shut the door and came round to see if 
she was all right, the two girls ran out of the 
house, each holding in her hand a substantial 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


27 


slice of buttered spice-bread doubled with the 
buttered sides together. 

“ Hollo ! you been foraging too ? ” cried Cap- 
tain Ferrers laugliing — “Ah! Mrs. Callum spoils 
you all. She never so much as offers we a crumb, 
often as I come to her very door.” 

“The guidwife w'ad be prood the day,” re- 
marked Mr. Callum, who was seeing them off. 

“ Ah 1 that’s all very fine,” laughed Booties 
gaily. “ Good day, Callum. Yes, let ’em go.” 

“ Booties,” said Mignon solemnly, after they 
had turned into the main road, “ You’ve letyour- 
self in for it nicely.” 

“Eh! what?” 

“ Did you ever taste IMrs. Callum’s Christmas 
cake ? ” she demanded. 

“ No, I can’t say I ever did.” 

“ Then just take a bite out of that,” holding 
up her own wedge, “ a good bite.” 

Captain Ferrers did as he was told and, being 
' a polite man, he also swallowed it. 

“ I don’t think, Mignon,” he remarked re- 
proachfully, “ that I have deserved that from 
you.” 

Mignon laughed. “ I am cruel to be kind,” 
she said. “I have tasted Mrs. Callum’s cake 
many times, and that is what you have to expect 
if you once begin tasting it by her invitation. It 
was a happy thought of mine to finish it on the 
way home, though the children quite put me to 


28 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


shame in the way of ingenuity, by declaring that 
mother did not like them to have rich cake like 
hers, and by asking for spice-bread instead. Is 
it good. Pearl? ” turning back to the seat behind 
lier. 

“ Oh I lovely,” said the two in the same 
breath. 

“Does mother object to your eating rich 
cake ? ” Mignon asked, wondering whether their 
objection to the cake had been the beginning of 
a new and severe rule at Ferrers Court, or 
simply the result of their own ingenuity. 

“Well, mother doesn’t like us to eat anything 
that’s stodgy,” replied Pearl, “ and as, of course, 
we couldn’t say to Mrs. Callum, ‘Your cake is 
stodgy and so we can’t eat it’, we call it rich — 
and it does just as well.” 

“ Those children are a thousand times cleverer 
than I was at their age,” said Mignon in an un- 
dertone to Booties. 

“ Yes, they are clever as daylight,” Booties 
murmured in reply. “ But, though they’re my 
own children and all that, my bird, they’ll never 
be more to me than you were.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” whispered Mignon with a 
happy little sigh. 

“You’ve been married two years, Mignon,” 
Booties went on. 

“ Yes, over two years now.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


29 


“ And you’re happy still, 1 suppose ? ” with a 
laugh. 

“ Happy — ^yes, utterly happy.” 

“ And how is it with the old regiment? Why, 
bless me, there’s scarcely a soul in it that I knew, 
except Lucy. How soon does he expect to get 
tlie command ? ” 

“ In March, I believe.” 

“ Ah ! that’s good ! Odd thing that you should 
be in command of the Scarlet Lancers, for that’s 
what you will be. By-the-bye, you know Sophy 
Carmine is with us ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And that the Landovers come to-morrow?” 

“ The Landovers ! ” in surprise. 

“Yes, they’ve got something wrong with their 
drains, so they’re coming to us.” 

“ Oh ! ” Mignon’s tone was not very sympa- 
thetic, but Booties did not notice it. 

“ Kerr is coming to-morrow — ^)'OU don’t remem- 
ber him — he was before your day. And Lester 
Brookes and Tommy Alleyne — ^you know them 
both, don’t you?” he went on. “And for the 
present I think that is all.” 

“ A very pleasant party,” said Mignon — but 
all the same she did wish that something had not 
gone wrong with the drains at Landover Castle. 
Yes ! she certainly did. 


30 


SOP//V CARMINE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SOPHY MAKES AN IMPRESSION. 

In spite of her delicate throat, Mrs. Ferrers 
ran out to the steps of the great entrance to bid 
the new-comers the best and tenderest of wel- 
comes. 

“ My dear child, my dear child,” she cried, 
“ How well you look ! Oh ! my dear, it seems 
such a long time since you were here, such a long 
time.” 

“Well, it is a long time, mother, darling,” 
answered Mignon, with a gay laugh. “It is 
more than three months, and then it was but a 
glimpse of you that I had.” 

“ True, true — but come in, darling, go to the 
fire at once. You will find Sophy Carmine and 
the others there. Ah ! General Coles, I am so 
glad to see you again. Do you find the English 
winter very trying?” 

“ My dear Mrs. Ferrers, thanks to your kind- 
ness and forethought, I found the drive here 
really delightful,” answered the old soldier, quite 
forgetting the coldness of the wintry day in the 
— to him — genial atmosphere of a pleasant and 
pretty woman’s smiling welcome. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


31 


“ Ah ! that is like you to say so,” said Mrs. 
Ferrers; “but do go in to the fire. We have 
made it up specially for you. Cecil, iny dear, I ’ 
am delighted to see you,” she said to Major Lucy, 
as the old General passed on. 

They all trooped into the hall then, where 
they found three young ladies — or what society 
by courtesy calls young ladies when they are 
unmarried. Well, no, let us be strictly accurate 
and say one young lady and two unmarried ones. 

The young lady was young and, moreover, she 
was lovely — small and pale and piquante, with 
soft dark eyes and soft silky dark hair — and as 
Mrs. Lucy turned round from greeting Sophy 
Carmine, she said “Oh! how do you di>, Miss 
Maitland? I hardly expected to find you here.” 

“ Miss Maitland is staying over the holidays 
as a visitor, dearie,” explained tlie mistress of the 
house, who had followed Mignon closely. 

“ I am sure I am delighted to hear it,” said 
Mignon, with her own delightful courtesy. “ I 
hope you mean to have a very good time, Miss 
Maitland, I do.” 

“ Yes, I hope so,” answered the girl a little 
shyly. 

“ General Coles, I want to introduce you to 
Miss Carmine,” said Mrs. Ferrers turning round 
to the old soldier, who, having got rid of a great 
fur-lined coat and other wraps, had come into the 
inner hall which they always used as a sitting- 


32 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


room, and was making much of the large fire 
blazing upon the hearth. 

He turned at liis hostess’s words. and made his 
])est bow to the lady whom she indicated. Booties 
watching the little scene, admitted to himself^ 
that, after all, his wife was not so far out of it as 
at first it had seemed she would be. Positively, 
in the pleasant rose-tinted light, Sophy looked 
quite pretty. 

“Come and sit down here,” she said, jiointing 
to a seat next to her own. “ This has been set 
here specially for you because there is no draught 
in this corner, and if there was the high back 
would keep it off.” 

The seat in question was an old oak settle, 
elaborately carved, but only in such places and 
parts of it as would not be uncomfortable to the 
occupants of the seat. It was black with age 
and, moreover, was filled with a luxurious crim- 
son velvet cushion which was carried well up the 
back. It was circular too, and so had a most 
delightful corner, and it was to this Sophy 
pointed. “ Come,” she said, invitingly. 

The old General needed no further bidding, 
liis rubicund old face fairly shone with delight as 
he settled himself beside her. After all, he told 
himself, a man gets to that time of life when 
womanly tenderness and thought for one’s creat- 
ure comforts have a deeper and more lasting 
attraction for him than mere beauty. When he 


SOPHY CARMIHE. 


33 


fii-st came into the hall lie luul, with an instinct 
that was second nature to him, cast an eye on the 
pretty little dark -eyed girl, who seemed like a sliy 
sweet violet, and he had felt for a moment as he 
used to feel in the old Blankhampton days, that 
he must spruce himself up, straighten his back, 
and give a glance a-down his leg — but stay, I 
think the dear old General was getting just a 
trille mixed ! Surely he had given up glancing 
down either of his legs long before the old 
Blankhampton days — oh I surely! However, 
when Sophy Carmine, wlio looked warm and 
comely enough, and who was certainly not sin', 
bade him install himself in the very cosiest cor- 
ner in all that large and comfortable hall, and 
also made him feel that by so doing, he would 
confer a favor upon everybody who was present, 
he sat down beside her feeling that beauty was 
but skin deep and a mere matter of comparison 
and of tiiste at that — and that he was going to 
enjoy Ids Christmas at Ferrers Court uncommon- 
ly well. 

“ I am sure it is very kind of you to take so 
much care of me,” he remarked. 

“Ah! well, you are cold and tired,” she 
answered, “ and I have a fellow-feeling for you. 
I had a ten hours’ journey yesterday from the 
North, and really I was hours before I got 
thawed at all. But this is a wonderful house for 
3 


34 


SOPHY CAmtINH. 


getting warm. I believe it is the most comfort- 
able house I was ever in in my life.” 

“ Then I shall appreciate it fully,” said the 
General, stretching out his hands to the warmth 
of the blaze as a cat stretches out her paws when 
she is stroked according to her fancy. 

“It was so cold up in Scotland,” Sophy went 
on ; “ I was quite up_ North last week, and only 
stayed three days in Edinburgh on my way 
south ; but up in Clashnessie it was cold, I can 
tell you.” 

“ Clashnessie,” replied the General, with a 
palpable shudder, “ at this time of year ! Why, 
what were you doing up there?” 

“ I should have been having an uncommonly 
good time if the cold had not been so awful,” 
Sophy answered demurely. “ Not that I was the 
one who felt it the most, for there was a poor 
fellow staying in the house, just home from 
India — and, by-the-by, he is coming here to- 
morrow.” 

“Really! Who is he?” 

“ A Colonel Kerr.” 

“ Oh ! Kerr. Yes, he used to be in Ferrers’ 
regiment — went out to the White Dragoons and 
has the command now. I never met him. I’ve 
been in the same station with him more than 
once out in India, but I never had to know him 
officially, and personally I have always under- 
stood that he’s an unsociable sort of fellow.” 


bOPHY CARMINE. 


35 


“ Perhaps he is a little unsociahle,” Sophy ad- 
mitted. “ He is ill bad healtii and looks as if lie 
had some trouble or other. And yet he is not 
morose or disagreeable at all — quite the contrary, 
in fact. But I might be mistaken about tliat, 
for I’ve often seen men who have been a few 
yeaiB in India with the same melanclioly tender 
sort of look about them.” 

Miss Carmine spoke in an abstracted kind of 
way, as if she had forgotten General Coles al- 
together. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, and 
very well her eyelashes, which were naturally 
long and beautiful in all but color, looked. Gen- 
eral Coles straightened himself up. Did Miss 
Carmine mean to imply tliat he had a tender and 
melancholy expression of countenance, as if he 
was the victim of some secret trouble or other ? 

It happened that just as she uttered her sweet 
little speech. Captain Ferrers came towards her 
with a cup of tea and a sugar-basin, followed b}"^ 
Pearl carrying a plate of hot muffins. He was, 
as Sophy was gazing abstractedly into the fire, 
in time to hear the whole of her pretty compli- 
ment concerning the effect of an Indian sun upon 
the complexion of a manof arms, and I am bound 
to confess that moment. Booties almost died that 
he might keep himself from laughing in their 
very faces. 

“ You’ll have a cup of tea. Miss Sophy?” he 
said by way of attracting her attention. — “ No, 


36 


SOPHY C AMINE. 


you sit still, General, you shall help to wait on 
the ladies to-morrow ; or better still, help Miss 
Sophy to sugar and hold the basin till I bring 
you a cup for yourself.” Thus, encouraged to 
sit still, the General took the basin from Captain 
Ferrers. 

“ One lump or two. Miss Sophy ? ” he inquired 
with intensest interest. 

“Two, please,” answered Sophy coquettishly. 
“ I’m quite a baby in the way of sugar and sweets 
of all kinds.” 

“ Sweets to the sweet,” said the General gal- 
lantly. 

Booties turned sharply away. “ Oh ! Lor’,” 
he said within himself, “if this flirtation goes on 
as it has begun, it will be the death of me — the 
very death of me.” 

“Sophy, aren’t you going ‘to have some 
muffin?” asked Pearl, bringing the pair on the 
old settle back to life and every-day matters with 
a shock. 

“ Thank you, dearie,” murmured Sophy, help- 
ing herself. 

“I think I had better put the plate on this 
stool and then you can help yourselves when you 
feel inclined to,” Pearl suggested. 

“ Thank you, darling,” Sophy answered, then 
looked up from under her eye-lashes at the beam- 
ing old soldier. “Are you fond of muffins?” 
she asked tenderly. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


37 


“ I love ’em,” returned the General. 

“ I can’t think,” said Pearl confidentially to 
Maud when she got back to the tea-table again — 
“ I can’t think why Sophy Carmine wants to put 
on that dying duck look for ? I’m sure if she 
could once see herself she’d never do it again. 
I wonder if a little dill water would cure her? 
That’s what Humphie always gives Baby when 
she turns her eyes upside down.” 

“ We’ll ask Humphie about it,” answered 
Maud gravely. “ Bertie, don’t steal the sugar 
and then pretend you’ve not. If you want a 
lump take it like a man and crunch it. Stealing 
is mean, and father hates meanness.” 

In the face of this sharp rebuke, the lordly 
young Bertie had no choice but to put his hands 
into his pockets and swagger away across the hall 
as if he had not heard what his sister said. By so 
doing he found himself — having by a kind of 
instinct betaken himself out of tlie way of the two 
governesses — close up against Sophy Carmine 
and General Coles. 

“Well, young gentleman,” said the General 
graciously, “ and what is your name pray ? ” 

Not liaving yet got over the ignominy of 
Maud’s snub, young Bertie, who was nine years 
old and very quick for his age, and al§o of a very 
lordly disposition, was not in the very best of 
tempers and resented tlie liberty promptly ; and 
the better to put the too familiar old gentleman 


38 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


in his place, he answered the question by 
another. 

“Don’t you know me? ” he demanded. 

Now General Coles knew or at least inferred 
from the general situation, that this was one of 
the children of the house; but he answered ’him 
after the facetious manner of more or less un- 
truthful banter highly popular with those who 
have had no practical experience of little folk. 

“ No,” he said, putting his head on one side 
and blinking wickedly like the hoary old sinner 
that he was. “ No, my little man, I haven’t the 
faintest notion in the world as to who you can 
possibly be. In fact, I don’t know you at all.” 
The effect on the boy was precisely contrary to 
what was intended. Young Bertie having a 
lordly idea of himself, loathed the use of the 
word ‘little’ as a personal adjective, and resented 
its uncalled for application to himself accord- 
ingly. 

“Ah! that’s your misfortune,” he said with 
much dignity, and turned on his heel without 
deigning to waste another word upon a person 
so rude and so lamentably ignorant of the or- 
dinary rules of behavior. 

“ What’s the matter, Bertie ? ” asked Pearl, 
seeing the cloud on Bertie’s face. “ Has General 
Coles vexed you ? ” 

“ Yes — I’m in a wax,” said Bertie, with an in- 


SOP Hr CARMINE. 39 

digiiaiit glance at the pair in the settle. “ I don’t 
know what father wanted to ask him for.” 

“ Why, don’t you like him ? ” Pearl ex- 
claimed — she liked the cheery old soldier im- 
mensely. 

“No, I don’t — he’s — he’s an old porcupine,” 
said Bertie in disgust, “ he’s a — a hippopota- 
mus.” 

“ I suppose he saw you stealing the sugar just 
now,” said Maud, who was remarkable for the 
uprightness of lier whole moral nature. “ You 
shouldn’t do such things and then you wouldn’t 
be found out.” 

“ It’s a great pity you don’t like him, because 
lie has only just come,” added Pearl. 

“ I wonder,” growled Bertie, “ how soon he is 
going away ? ” 

“And how long are you going to sta}"?” 
Sophy Carmine was saying at that moment. 

“ I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it,” 
the General answered — “ but, unless something 
very disagreeable happens, I shall probably stay 
until — until I’m turned out.” 

“ I don’t think any one will want to turn you 
out,” said Sophy in her tenderest tones* 


40 


aOPHY CARMINE 


CHAPTER V. 

DREADFULLY TRUTHFUL. ^ 

The following clay Mr. and Mrs. Landover 
arrived at Ferrers Court in time for afternoon 
tea. Again Sophy Carmine had refused an offer 
to go to the station fur a drive, when Captain 
Ferreis went to meet Colonel Kerr and Mr. 
Alleyne, who would come down from town by 
the same train. 

Sophy had come down to breahfast at nine 
o’clock, looking remarkably well and smart. 
Then she had taken a little walk with Mrs. Lucy, 
who had gaily gone all round the place, ending 
by a visit to an old friend of hers who occupied 
a set of rooms over the west wing of the stables, 
and was known in the liousehold at the Court as 
Mrs. Terry; and as Mrs. Lucy was more inter- 
ested in the head groom's baby than Miss Car- 
mine was. Miss Carmine wandered down into the 
yard below to look at a sweet Pug puppy, and by 
a lucky chance — a mere accident, of course — to 
meet with the General, who had come shivering 
out under protest to look at a particular hunter 
which was told off for his especial use — a hunter 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


41 


by the bye, that he had not the smallest inten- 
tion of ever mounting. 

Somehow Sophy and he deserted the stable- 
yard for the more congenial atmosphere of the 
hall, where they sat snugly together on the old 
oak settle and congratulated one another on 
their good sense in preferring to be within d(»ors 
on so cold and miserable a day. 

“It’s very funny,” said Mignon to Captain 
Ferrers, “ to hear Sophy Carmine complaining so 
bitterly about the weather. I always thouglit 
the Carmines were invulnerable to that kind of 
thing. With their tailor gowns and their double- 
soled boots, and their high linen collars, and their 
hard pot hats, I thought they were ready for 
anything and everything that meant being out 
of doors.” 

“Ah! but Jane has altered a good bit,” said 
Booties, with a laugh ; “ and Soj)hy alwa\’s 
follows Jane, you know. Since Jane Carmine 
became Mrs. handover, there never was such a 
hot-house plant known. She shivers at a drop of 
rain like a cat.” 

“ I call it very silly,” was Mignon’s comment. 

So when Mr. and Mrs. handover arrived in 
the course of the afternoon, instead of finding a 
“ tailor made ” mud-splashed Sopljy, with thick 
boots and a red nose, they found a very elegant 
and ladylike Sophy, keeping Mrs. Ferrers com- 
pany by the hall fire. At Ferrers Court after- 


42 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


noon tea was always served in the large Hall, 
which was more like an enlarged “ boudoir ” than 
what is generally known as a hall. 

“ Well, Sophy, my dear,” murmured Mrs. Land- 
over languidly, “I’m delighted to see you. No, 
I'm not very well,” putting back her rich furs. 
“ I think Landover does not suit me. I used to 
be so strong, as you know ; and now the least 
little exertion seems to upset me. Geoff dear, 
take my furs, will you ? ” 

“Geoff dear,” who was very big and very 
blundering, made haste to do his wife’s bidding, 
and trod on her foot in his eagerness to obey. 

“ Oh, my dearest, I’m so sorry — the poor little 
foot,” he cried, feeling something between his 
own foot and the floor. 

“ Geoff — dear ! ” cried Jane reproachfully, 
then sat down with the air of a martyr beside 
Mrs. Ferrers. “And has Mignon come?” she 
asked, “and Major Lucy?” 

“ They came yesterday, dear,” answered Mrs. 
Ferrers with a smile. “ Do you know General 
Coles? Let me introduce you: General Coles 
— Ml'S. Landover.” 

The gallant old soldier bowed politel}’, and 
Mrs. Landover gave him one of her prettiest 
smiles. “ Let me give you a cup of tea, dear,” 
said Mrs. Ferrers. 

“ Yes, I should like one, thanks. Oh ! here are 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


43 


the dear children. Come and speak to Mrs. 
Landover, dears.” 

As she spoke, Peaii and Maud came in with 
Miss Maitland, and tall Pearl came straight across 
the room and held out her hand to the new 
arrival. “How do you do, Janef' she said, 
with an emphasis on the name which told but 
too plainly that she resented Mrs. Landover’s 
way of speaking to them, “I hope you are quite 
well.” 

“I hope you are quite well, Jane'' chimed in 
Maud, much to Sophy Carmine’s secret amuse- 
ment. 

“Thank you, yes, dears,” said Mrs. Landover, 
with studied sweetness. 

It was odd that she always had the same pas- 
sage of arms with them every time she came to 
Ferrers Court. She was not a favorite with the 
Ferrers children, who had known and disliked 
her as Jane Carmine, and having called her Jane 
then, resolutely declined to i-emember now that 
she was Mrs. Landover, of Landover Castle. 

“ We always call her ‘Jane,’ ” said Pearl once 
in explanation, “ because we used to call her 
Jane when she was just Jane Carmine and no- 
body in particular. I daresay she would like 
us to call her Mrs. Landover, but we never do.” 

“ And we never mean to,” Maud had added 
with decision. 

This afternoon Mrs. Landover, having rather 


44 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


short-sightedly started these two young damsels 
oil an adverse strain of intercourse, began to reap 
the benefit thereof in a way that she hardly quite 
liked. 

Mignon and Major Lucy came yesterday,” 
said Pearl, still standing in front of Mrs. Land- 
over’s chair, “but they have gone to the station 
with father to meet Mr. Alleyne and Colonel 
Kerr. Do you know Mr. Alleyne?” 

“No, dear,” still in the same, sweet tone and 
with a little sigh, as if she was shut out from the 
world now. “Who is he ? ” 

“ He is an actor,” said Pearl. “When we were 
in town last season we went several times to see 
him act. He plays the funny old gentleman, 
something like General Coles. I daresay the 
next time he has to act a funny old gentleman 
he will make up just like General Coles.” 

“ Pleasant for me,” put in the General with 
comic dismay. 

“ When they copy any one to play a person on 
the stage they call it ‘making up,’” Pearl went 
on. “ I believe Mr. Alleyne is going to do some 
theatricals here, but if he does it will only be for 
Mignon.’* 

“ Only for Mignon — How ? ” asked Mrs. Land- 
over rather tartly. 

“Well, Mr. Alleyne is particularly fond of 
Mignon,” said Pearl. 

“ And what does Major Lucy say to Mr. Al- 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


45 


ley lie or Mr. Anybody else being particuLirly 
fond of Mignon? ” Mrs. Landover inquired with 
a not very pleasant laugh. 

By this time, Mrs. Ferrers was on the other 
side of the hall, chatting to Geoffrey Landover ; 
Miss jVIaitlaiid was at the tea-table, and near 
enough to Sophy Carmine and the General to 
join in their conversation, so that Mrs. Landover 
was practically at the mercy of the two sharp, 
plain-spoken young ladies, who, though tliey 
were utterly unconscious of it, were ever on the 
look-out for the joints of her harness, and would 
certainly never miss a chance of sending one of 
their bolts, charged with the deadly precision of 
absolute truth, right home to the very haft. 

“ I don’t think Major Lucy minds anyone 
being fond of Mignon,” said Pearl seriously. 

Mrs. Landover raised her eyebrows, as much 
as to say, “ Has it come to that ? ” Pearl con- 
tin ued. 

“ You see he couldn’t very well, because he is 
so fond of her himself.” 

“ Cecil adores Mignon,” broke in Maud in- 
dignantly. 

Mrs. Landover laughed. “ How very nice,” 
she remarked, jeeringly. 

Maud looked at her with great, blue, reproach- 
ful eyes, her childish serenity ruffled by some- 
thing she knew was in Mrs. Landover’s mind, 
and yet which was beyond her comprehension. 


46 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


Pearl, on the other hand, not only saw, but went 
straight to the point with an ap[)iilling amount 
of truthfulness and luck of conventionality, such 
as made Mrs. Laiidover positively shudder. 

“ I wonder why you don’t like Mignon? ” she 
observed, meditatively. 

“ 1 ? ” cried Mrs. Landover, with a great show 
of surprise. 

“ Yes, Jane, you,” said Pearl promptly. “ You 
don’t like her, do you ?” 

“ Oh ! my dear. Pm quite awfully fond of 
Mignon,” said Mrs. Landover, rising. “I al- 
ways w-as, as Mignon herself would tell vou, Pin 
sure. You should not let such odd ideas get 
into your head, my dear. It is very bad for you, 
very bad. Nobody will love you if you get 
fancying such things,” and then Mrs. Landover 
carried her cup over to the tea-table for another 
supply of tea, and w'ith a little joke, she sat 
down on the settle with her sister and General 
Coles. 

“ Jane Landover is vexed,” said Maud in dis- 
may to her sister. 

“ But Jane cannot bear Mignon,” said Pearl 
wisely. “ It wouldn’t have vexed her if it 
hadn’t been true.” 

For a little time they remained as they w'ere, 
and the two children sat together on the big sofa 
and finished their plate of muffins, and thoroughly 
talked over Jane Landover and her ways. Then 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


47 


Mrs. Ferrei-s asked Miss Maitland if she would 
sing something, if it was not too soon after tea? 

“Not a bit,” said Miss Maitland, who was 
every hour getting less shy, and feeling more at 
home. 

Slie got up, and went to the piano, and Mrs. 
Ferrers saw, with some amusement, that the old 
General followed, on the plea of turning over her 
music. Mrs. Landover moved nearer to her 
sister. 

“I can’t understand how such really delight- 
ful people as the Ferrers come to have such 
horrid children,” she remarked. 

Sophy laughed. “ They are dreadfully truth- 
ful,” she said ; “ sometimes quite inconveniently 
so,” and wondered what awkward and unan- 
swerable questions they had been plying Jane 
with. 

“ Horrid little brats, I call them,” said Jane 
with decision, as the strains of a tender melody 
began to steal out from under Miss Maitland’s 
slender fingers. “ That girl plays well,” she 
added. “ Who is she ? ” 

“ The English governess,” Sophy answered. 

“ Oh, yes ! to be sure. I have seen her here 
before. Rather a mistake of Mrs. Ferrers to 
make her so prominent, don’t you think?” 

Sophy Carmine did not answer in words, for 
Miss Maitland began to sing ; but she turned and 
looked at Jane, and then she looked across the 


48 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


hall at Geoffrey Landover — a look filled with 
wonder and something very near contempt. 

It was such a pretty, tender song that the girl 
was singing — 

“ To the tears I have shed and regret not, 

What matters a few more tears ? 

Or a few days waiting longer, 

To one who has waited for years ? ” 

There were more listeners than she knew of, 
for when the last notes died away, Mignon pulled 
the velvet curtain of the door leading to the 
outer hall aside, and came in. “ What a lovely 
song,” she said. “We have been standing out- 
side listening to every word. Let me introduce 
you to Miss Maitland, Mr. Alleyne.” 

“I am delighted to meet you,” said Mr. 
Alleyne taking the girl’s hand in the peculiarly 
flattering fasliion which you never see except 
in men who live mostly in London. “ Your song 
was charming — perfectly charming.” 

“ I am glad you think so,” the girl answered, 
feeling at ease with him at once — as most people 
did with Tommy Alleyne. “ But I don’t think 
you could hear very well.” 

“ Every word, I assure you — every word,” he 
protested. 

“ Let me introduce Colonel Kerr, Miss Mait- 
land,” said Mignon ; so Miss Maitland had to 
turn from the actor, who at once went off to the 
mistress of the Court, 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


49 


“ What an exquisite song,” the Colonel began, 
when Captain Ferrers came across the room and 
caught hold of his arm. 

“ Charlie, old fellow,” he said, “ come to tlie 
fire. I believe you are very cold, you ought to 
have gone inside. Miss Maitland, won’t you 
give Colonel Kerr a cup of tea?” 

“ Of course,” said she willingly. 

“ Or do you prefer anything else ? ” 

“ hlo, thanks. I’d rather have tea, much rather.” 

“ Then come along. You know Miss Carmine, 
don’t you? And these are my two daughters — 
my eldest daughters, that is. I’ve got a few 
more.” 

“ Only two, father,” said Pearl, as she held 
out her hand to the new-comer. 

“ And eight is a few,” said Maud severely. 

“ Eight — eh ? How do you make that out?” 
laughed Booties. 

“Well, Humphie says,” said Maud gravely, 
“ that eight is a few because eight persons came 
out of the ark — and it says they were a few, 
somewhere in the Bible.” 

“ Ah, you two do keep me up to date,” cried 
Booties laughing ; then slipped his hand under 
Kerr’s arm. “ Charlie, old fellow,” he said, “ I’m 
glad to have you back again.” 

“ Thank you. Booties,” was all the other said. 

“ And,” said Pearl afterwards, “ he looked just 
like father did when Mignon was married.” 


60 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

GOING BACK A LITTLE. 

As Pearl had predicted to jVIrs. Landover, Mr. 
Alleyne had not been many imurs at Ferrers 
Court before the question of private theatricals 
was mooted. 

“You keep New Year’s Eve,” said the actor — 
“ then you had better have the show on that 
night, hadn’t you ? ” 

“ If you can get ready in time,” Mrs. Ferrers 
answered. 

“ Oh ! I think we can get ready, if we work,” 
he said, hopefully; “but remember, those who 
play must do nothing else — no hunting, no shoot- 
ing, no anything but rehearsals until dinner- 
time. You have the stage that you used last 
time, Mrs. Ferrers?” 

“ Oh, yes ! It can be put up in a few hours. 
If you like it can be put up at once.” 

“ It would be much better, and when we have 
decided on the piece, we must see about scenery 
— I am afraid you’ll have to have a man down 
from town.” 

“ Miss Maitland can paint the scenery,” said 
Pearl. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


51 


“ Miss Maitland/” exclaimed Mr. Alleyne in 
some surprise. “ But have you ever painted 
stage scenery?” he asked turning to Miss Mait- 
land ; “ it is very different to ordinary painting, 
you know.” 

“Yes; I know,” she said, smiling — “but I 
know a good deal about it; my father was 
Maitland, the actor.” 

Tommy Alleyne’s jaw fairly dropped. “ Your 
father was Maitland, the actor ! ” — he exclaimed 
— “you — ^you surprise me. Then, pray, what 
are you doing off the stage yourself ? Or are 
you an actress ? ” 

“No, I have never been on the stage at all,” 
she answered ; “ my father would never let me 
do it and when he died, I did not like to do the 
one thing he had never allowed, so — here I 
am.” 

“ But you will play in these theatricals ? ” he 
urged — “ Oh ! you must, I won’t take any re- 
fusal.” 

“ I will paint the scenery with pleasure,” she 
said, smiling — “ it’s not the first I have done, nor 
the second, nor the third. In fact, at one time, 
I had a great idea of taking it up professionally, 
but somehow I didn’t, I found it easier — at least, 
that’s not quite it, but I happened to hear that 
Mrs. Ferrers wanted a governess and one of my 
friends spoke to her and here I am.” 

“ The loss is to the stage,” said Mr. Alleyne, 


52 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


gallantly. “ Then let me see — what piece shall 
we do ? 

There was an argument about this question, 
of course. One wanted to try “ David Garrick ; ” 
another to do “ The Bells,” and a third to have 
something really good — “As You Like It,” or 
“ Claudian.” Eventually, however, they decided 
on playing “ Sweethearts,” and a little two-act 
comedy of Tommy’s own writing. 

“ And who will play Jenny ? ” asked Mrs. Land- 
over, with a great interest. 

“ Either Miss Maitland or Mrs. Lucy,” an- 
swered Mr. Alleyne, promptly. 

“ I did not know that acting was one of your 
accomplishments, Mignon,” said Mrs. Landover, 
who wanted to play it herself. 

“Neither did I,” said Mignon, good-humor- 
edly. 

“ 1 have always played in private theatricals 
from the time I was sixteen,” remarked Mrs. 
Landover to the company in general. 

“ Really — is that so?” said Mr. Alleyne, with 
polite interest. “ But, all the same, I don’t think 
that Jenny Spreadbrow is quite suited to you, 
and either Mrs. Lucy or Miss Maitland would 
look the part admirably.” 

“ I have played it several times,” persisted Mrs. 
Landover, who never liked to give up anything 
upon which she had set her mind. 

“Well, we shall see, of course,” said Mr. 


SOPHY CARMINK 


53 


Alley ne, blandly — so very blandly that Jane 
would have shaken him at that moment with 
much pleasure, if it had been practicable. “ By- 
the-bye, Ferrers, did I hear that Lester Brookes 
is spending Christmas with you ? ” 

“ Yes ; he comes this afternoon,” Booties 
answered. 

“ He is the very man we want,” said Mr. 
Alley ue, vastly pleased. 

They loitered about the dining-room and hall a 
little, as people do when breakfast comes to an 
end, and Tommy Alleyne took the opportunity 
of having a little confidential chat with Mrs, 
Ferrers. 

“ I want you, my dear Mrs. Ferrers,” he said, 
“ to give over to me, entirely and absolutely, the 
whole charge of these theatricals. You see, we 
have very little time, and shall have a great many 
difficulties to get over, and if I don’t have the 
entire command ” 

“Yes, I know,” exclaimed Mrs. Ferrers, with 
a laugh — “ T uuderstaud exactly, Mr. Alleyne. I 
give you the absolute management of the theat- 
ricals from beginning to end.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Ferrers,” he said, in a tone 
of great relief. 

After this he mysteriously disappeared, and 
then Miss Maitland also went off in a casual sort 
of way, as if she was going to get her needle- 
work or to see if Fraulein’s bad cold was better. 


54 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


or something equally uninteresting in the way of 
occupation. And then Mignon asked Colonel 
Kerr if he had ever seen the ball-room, and when 
he said “No, it was built since my day,” sug- 
gested that he should go with her and have a 
look at it. So they, too, betook themselves away ; 
and then Captain Ferrers carried Squire Land- 
over off to the stables, and his wife with a word of 
apology, departed on her daily visit to the house- 
keeper. 

“ What are you going to do this morning, 
Sophy? ” inquired Mrs. Landover of her .sister. 

“ Keep myself warm by the fire, my dear,” said 
Sophy promptly. 

“ Oh ! and you. General ? ” 

“I — well, I think I am going to keep Miss 
Carmine company,” he replied. 

Mrs. Landover smiled. “ Well, I don’t feel 
inclined to stay indoors ; it is a lovely morning,” 
she said, “ but as everybody has gone off on their 
respective ways, I think there is nothing for you 
and I to do. Major Lucy, but console one 
another.” 

“ I am at your service,” said Lucy politely. 
“ Shall we go and see the horses, or walk about 
the place a little ? ” 

“ Oh ! I should like that so much,” cried Mrs. 
Landover in quite the old sprightly way which 
had been her habitual manner before she became 
so important a lady as Mrs. Landover, of Land- 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


55 


over Castle. “ I’ll run up and get my hat and 
coat,” — and then she suddenly remembered that 
she never wore anything less dignified than a 
bonnet now, and that her maid would be horri- 
fied at the idea of her exceedingly languid mis- 
tress “ running up to get her things.” “General 
Coles, will you ring the bell for me?” she said, 
relapsing into her pretty helpless Mrs. Landover 
manner. 

After five minutes delay the maid Cerise came, 
a smart and pretty Frenchwoman who under- 
stood her mistress’s weaknesses better than any 
other person in the world. 

“ I am going out for a little walk, Cerise,” said 
Mrs. Landover ; “ bring me something to put 
on.” 

Cerise retired, returning with some garments 
which she considered suitable to the occasion — 
a well-cut ulster, with so many capes, and collars, 
and pockets, and lapels, and buttons, that Sophy 
looked at it, speechless in wonder and admira- 
tion. To wear with this wonderful garment was 
a little scarlet velvet cap, and Mrs. Landover 
looked at them with the delight of a surprised 
child. 

“Oh! Cerise, how charming. You never told 
me Redfern had sent me these,” she exclaimed. 
“ The last time we were in town,” she explained 
to Sophy, “ they suggested I should have some- 
thing quite a change — they think 1 have been 


56 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


dressing too old lately. So I left it to them to 
send me something for wearing in the country, 
or in Scotland, that really would suit me.” 

“ Let us see you in it,” said Sophy, who had 
never pretended to be above feeling an interest 
in new garments, whether they happened to be 
for herself or anybody else. 

Thus encouraged, Mrs. Landover, with Ce- 
rise’s help, insinuated herself into the new 
garment, which was made of thick heather 
mixture cloth and suited her admirably, making 
her look like the Jane Carmine of four or five 
years before, with a certain richness and a chie 
air which she had not possessed in those days. 

“ It is a charming coat,” cried Sophy, en- 
thusiastically. “ Isn’t it. General ? ” 

“ Oh ! charming — most ravishing,” answered 
the old General, with emphasis. 

“Do you like it. Major Lucy?” asked Mrs. 
Landover in a shy little voice, and turning 
herself round very slowly, as if she was a 
young lady in a show room persuading him to 
buy it. 

“ I’m afvvraid I’m no judge,” said Lucy delib- 
erately. “ I filways think Mrs. Landover charm- 
ing. 

Mrs. Landover positively blushed. “ Give me 
the hat. Cerise,” she said. 

Cerise had brought a gold dagger, with which 
her mistress usually fastened her head-covering 


SOPHY CARMINE. 57 

securely on her head, and in two minutes she 
announced to Lucy that she was ready. 

It was really a very smart little figure that 
went out into the soft wintry morning beside 
liim ; and Lucy, being safely married, and there- 
fore in no danger of falling a victim to Mrs. 
Landover’s kind glances (as he had once been), 
was not unwilling to spend an hour or so dawd- 
ling round “ the place.” 

“ Shall it be the stables ? ” he asked, as he 
opened the door. 

“ Presently,” said she. “ I am interested in 
horses, but I am more interested in conserva- 
tories and hot-houses. Suppose that we go 
through the fernery, and right round by the dif- 
ferent glass houses to the stables ? ” 

“ A vewry good idea,” said Lucy, blandly. 

“You may smoke,” she said presently, when 
they found themselves in the principal palm- 
house. “ I don’t like a great deal of tobacco. 
Smoking concerts always make me ill, but I don’t 
mind one cigarette at a time. In fact, I rather 
like it.” 

“ You are awfully good,” said Luc5% in his 
most imperturbable manner ; “ but the fact is, I 
seldom or never smoke so early in the day ; it 
spoils your nerve for hunting.” 

“ Are you going to hunt much here ? ” asked 
Mrs. handover, in a piteous little voice. 


58 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Yes ; I genewrally put in a good bit of hunt- 
ing while we are staying with Ferwrers.” 

“ But to-morrow is Christmas Eve,” she cried, 
reproachfully. 

“ I believe we don’t hunt until Saturday,” said 
Lucy, mildly. 

“ Oh ! And then you will hunt every day, I 
suppose ? ” 

“ Never on Sundays, you know,” said Lucy, 
more mildly still. “ But why don’t you hunt, 
Mrs. Landover? You used to be gwreat at out- 
door pursuits, and surely you must have enough 
horses to hunt even on Sundays, if you wished.” 

Mrs. Landover sat down on a wicker-work 
seat that was half-hidden under a great clump of 
palms which reached to the glass roof of the 
house. “ I used to liunt, and fish, and walk — 
nay, tramp, or do anything that meant being 
active and gay. But since I married, everything 
seems so different. Of course, Geoff is the best' 
husband in tlie world — I don’t suppose you are 
half as good a husband. Major Lucy. But — but 
— he will persist in coddling me so awfully that 
sometimes I feel as if I could scream out aloud 
from sheer nervousness. If there is a drop of 
rain, he is sure I shall get a chill and have in- 
flammation of the lungs, or rheumatic fever. If 
I don’t smother myself in furs till I have only 
the tip of my nose showing, he is sure I am not 
well-wrapped up enough. He never will hear of 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


59 


my using my own feet to walk anywhere — I 
must have a carriage out. And as for riding — 
well, really, 1 think he would have a fit at the 
mere mention of such a thing.” 

Lucy was quite interested. “You don’t say 
so, Mrs. Landover. Wliat a pity! Why, it’s a 
thousand pities ! ” he returned sympathetically. 
“You ought to educate him better. He’s such 
an all-wround good chap, Landover, that it 
wreally is a pity to have your good times spoilt 
like that. Suppose you come out for a wride 
with me this afternoon?” 

“ I don’t even possess a habit ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Landover dismally. 

“ Borwrow one fwrom you sister or fwrom my 
wife,” he suggested. 

“I’ll see. Oh I here is Sophy wdth the Gen- 
eral. Don’t let us spoil sport. Major Lucy ; let 
us be off before they see us.” 

So some hours later, when the theatrical con- 
spirators appeared at luncheon and Mignon asked 
gaily, “Well, good people, what have you all 
been after?” Mrs. Landover answered in her 
sweetest tones, “ Oh ! Major Lucy and I have 
been dawdling about the glass-houses all the 
morning. We have had a lovely time. I hope 
you don’t mind my monopolizing your husband, 
Mignon dear?” 

“Not the least in the world, so long as Cecil 
is amused,” said Mignon, shortly. 


60 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

REMEMBRANCES. 

Captain Lester Brookes arrived at Ferrere 
Court that afternoon, and the house-party was 
complete. 

Tliere was not a soul in the hall when he and 
Booties arrived from the station in an inordi- 
nately high dog-cart, but before long, the dif- 
ferent members of the household began dropping 
in by twos and threes, as the time of tea and 
muffins drew near. 

The dramatic conspirators, as Booties called 
them, came in together and soon claimed Captain 
Brookes to themselves, carrying him off to a cor- 
ner where they imparted to him all that he would 
have to do, and stated more particularly all that 
he would have to leave undone during the next 
ten days. Then Mrs. Ferrers came in with 
Sophy Carmine and the General, and Brookes 
promptly began to cliaff him as unmercifully 
and quite as respectfully as he had been used to 
chaff him years and years before when they had 
been quartered together at Blankhampton. 

“Yes, yes,” lie said to the conspirators. “I’ll 
do anything and everything you like ; but I 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


61 


must go and speak to the dear old boy now, he’s 
the best fun I ever knew in my life, and I haven’t 
seen him for years.” 

Then he straightened himself up and went 
across the hall. “ How do you do, sir ? ” he re- 
marked blandly. “ I’m afraid you hardly remem- 
ber me — Lester Brookes, of the Black Horse ? ” 

General Coles got up from his cosy corner. 
“ My dear boy,” said he, “ I’m delighted to see 
you. Why, let me think: surely we were quar- 
tered together at ” 

“ Blankhampton, sir,” said Brookes, with a 
twinkle in his eye. “We had a great many 
mutual friends there, if you remember, sir ; Mrs. 
Trafford, for instance.” 

“ Ah, yes ! Mrs. Trafford,” said the General, 
suavely. “ Yes ; she had several daughters.” 

“ T wo daughters and a niece, sir — yes. The 
niece married Orford, of my regiment, and Miss 
Laura married Staunton, Sir Anthony Staunton’s 
son, of the Black Horse.” 

“ Ah ! yes, yes, I remember. Charming people 
— charming little woman, Mrs. Trafford. Very 
nearly married your colonel, Urquhart.” 

“I believe she might have married Urquhart if 
she had chosen,” said Brookes, “ but she resisted 
the temptation. I’m quite sure, as I told you at 
the time. General, that Mrs. Trafford would 
never have resisted you., if you had asked her.” 

The General fairly chuckled with delight, and. 


02 


SOPHY CAE MINE. 


if the truth is told, was highly flattered by the 
reminiscence. Lester Brookes blandly and in- 
nocently went on : 

“Then there was Mrs. Fairlie, General — you 
haven’t forgotten her, of course f Brookes went 
on. 

The General shook his head seriously, but 
looked, at the same time, pleasantly conscious. 
“ Well, Mrs. Fairlie certainly was a great friend 
of mine — a very charming woman, Brookes. I 
liked her immensely.” 

“ Of course you did, sir,” rejoined Brookes, 
civilly. “ Everybody knew it. Of course you’ve 
heard what they say about it in Blankhampton ? ” 

“ No ; I haven’t heard a word. What do they 
say ? ” asked the General, all his curiosity aroused. 

Brookes looked at him doubtfully, and Mrs. 
Ferrers put her hand under Sophy’s arm, feeling a 
thrill of commiseration for the old man in her soft 
and tender heart. “ They are going to talk 
scandal, Sophy,” she said ; “ so we will go and 
pour out the tea. Come, dear.” 

“ Oh ! of course,” said Sophy, who, by-the-bye, 
was dying to stay where she was. 

The General, with an air of relief, slipped his 
hand under the younger soldier’s arm. “ And 
what do they say in Blankhampton, my dear 
boy ? ” he asked, when the ladies were out of 
hearing. 

“ Well, they do say, sir,” answered Brookes, 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


63 


“ that Mrs. Fairlie’s husband has never quite 
got over his jealousy of you, and that one has 
only to speak of General Coles to put him into 
a most infernal temper at any time.” 

The General opened his eyes with a most in- 
nocent air of surprise. “ Bless me, you don’t say 
so, my dear boy?” he remarked. “ But why ? 
I admired the lady, it is true ” 

“ And the lady admired you,” put in Brookes. 

“ Tut, tut, tut,” returned the old man, blandly. 
“ I dare say she found me amusing enough — but 
dear, dear, dear — what fools men are. Here was 
I — old enough to be her — her grandfather.” 

“Scarcely that, sir,” said Brookes, with great 
gravity. “ Say her uncle, or her elder brother, 
or even her cousin.” 

“ Well, considerably older than the lady, any- 
way,” admitted the old man. “And — but then, 
Blankhampton was always given to that sort of 
thing.” 

“ Blankhampton is a unique study of human 
nature,” said Lester Brookes, solemnly. “ A place 
where everybody has a coat-of-arms but nobody 
possessesagrandfather; where the majority of peo- 
ple are churchy, but nobody gives you the idea of 
being good ; a place presenting the oddest social 
contrasts possible to be found in the kaleidoscope 
of life, for the spiritual head of one church is 
but the second remove from the peasantry, and 
the humble sweeper out of another is Prince Paul 


64 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


Wolhenski, the twent 3 ''-third in the direct line, 
and the head of what was, in his youth, one of 
the richest and most powerful of the noble fam- 
ilies of that unhapp}" country, which autocratic 
Russia has crushed under her heel. I have seen,” 
Lester Brookes went on — “ I have seen Prince 
Paul Wolhenski take off his hat to the Lord 
Bishop of Blankhampton. Well, he is dead now, 
poor old man ; his sad and uncertain life is over. 
But of the two, I would rather be Prince Paul 
lying in his quiet grave than I would be the great 
man, whom most people cordially detest.” 

General Coles nodded assent. “ Yes, I sup- 
pose most of us would,” he said, quietly. “ And 
yet, I don’t know wh^" I should say so. John 
was always uncommonly civil to me.” 

“Yes 1 ” answered Brookes, in his driest tone. 
“ Yes ! By-the-bye, did you ever hear that story 
about Greville Howard and the great John? ” 

“No — I never heard a word. What was it?” 
the General asked eagerl}', on the alert in a mo- 
ment when there was a scrap of news in question. 
“ You mean Howard of Dangerfield?” 

“ No, I mean his brother, Greville, the parson 
at Linkwater. Greville married an heiress, 
you know, and has money of his own beside — 
lias a good living just to his liking that Lord 
Linkwater gave him, which is conveniently 
near Dangerfield.” 


SOPHY CAPMfNE. 


65 


“ Yes, I know, popular sort of chap — very 
tall, reddish, big family all reddish.” 

“That’s your man. Well, he has a profound 
love of John — likes him, like he would a stoat, 
don’t you know. Well, I’m told that not very 
long ago, John Blankhampton approached 
him in his most condescending and lordly way, 
and told him that he had noticed that one of 
Howard’s boys was paying a good deal of atten- 
tion to one of his daughters.” 

“ ‘ I don’t think there is any reason why it 
should not be, Howard,’ said John very blandly 
— ‘ It would be a suitable marriage in every 
wa^'. What do you think about it? ’ 

, ’“‘I don’t think, my lord,’ said Greville How- 
ard very politely, ‘that any one of my sons 

would have the presumption to ’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! come come, Howard, broke in his lord- 
ship with great affableness. ‘ I cannot look at 
it like that. Indeed, I think, providing that the 
young people give us a lead — that it would be a 
most suitable marriage in every respect. For 

instance in age and station ’ 

“ Greville Howard murmured something to 
the effect that this unexpected honor was too 
great, and John Blankhampton by way of putting 
him at his ease, said — ‘ My dear Howard, you 

are too modest altogether ’ 

“» ‘ The younger son of a younger son,’ put in 
Howard. 


66 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ ‘ Still, you are of good family, Howard, said 
John — ‘yours is a very old landed interest in 
Blankshire, is it not? ’ 

“‘Well, my lord,’ said Howard dryly — ‘We 
have been Squires of Dangerfield since Stephen’s 
time, if that is what you mean.’ 

“ Well, within a week, Howard had packed his 
young hopeful off to the other side of the 
world — ‘I’ve always let my boys go their own 
way pretty much,’ he remarked when he told 
the story, ‘ but one must draw the line some- 
where., you know.’ 

“ Never ! he never said that, surely,” chuckled 
the old soldier in huge delight ; a very good joke 
’poll my word, a very good joke.’ ” 

“ Why, there’s Lucy,” Brookes exclaimed, as 
Mrs. Landover came in followed by Major 
Lucy — “ Lucy, my dear fellow, how are you ? ” 

‘* How d’ do Brookes ? ” answered Lucy pleasr 
antly. “ Er — how d’ do, old fellow ? Glad to 
see you again.” 

“ Captain Brookes doesn’t remember me,” 
murmured Mrs. Landover in the old coaxing 
coquettish voice that had been hers in the days 
gone by. 

“ Oh ! yes, Mrs. Landover, I do,” returned 
Brookes ; “ I am very pleased to meet you again. 
The fact was I couldn’t quite see who was with 
Lucy — those veils ladies are wearing now are 
very disguising.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


67 


“ Oh, my dragon veil,'’ said she, putting up a 
neat little hand in the neatest possible riding- 
glove to touch her veil. “ Yes, I believe they 
are a little so. Geoff thinks me a perfect lunatic 
to wear one ; he says he can’t think what I want 
to hide my face for, and I tell him I don’t, but 
these dragon veils are the fashion, and one 
must wear what is the fashion whatever one 
looks like. Ah ! Mignon dear, we have had a 
delightful ride — and I have won a couple of pairs 
of gloves from your husband. Mind you pay up. 
Major Lucy,” turning to him and speaking in 
her most coquettish tones. 

“ Oh ! I will pay up,” replied Lucy gravely — 
“ What size, by the by, and what color ? ” 

“ Six and a quarter — any shade of tan, and 
Penberthy’s gloves, please, I can’t wear any 
gloves but Penberthy’s,” Mrs. Landover replied. 

“You see I’ve such a difficult little hand to 
fit. What size gloves do you take, Mignon, 
dear ? Six and a half ? Do you go to Pen- 
berthy’s for yours ? ” 

“ Mignon takes sixes,” answered Major Lucy 
quickly and taking his wife’s hand that he might 
show its small size and beautiful shape. 

“ I shouldn’t have thought it,” said Mrs. 
Landover tartly ; somehow the sight of the two 
big diamond half hoops which blazed upon 
Mignon’s wedding-finger always made her, as she 
called it savage — to think of the ring she had 


68 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


been made to give her for a wedding-present, 
because that foolish Geoff was so proud of his wife 
and was so grateful to the Ferrers for having 
first met her at Ferrers Court. Ugh! it was 
sickening. 

“ Mignon has a vewry small hand,” said Lucy 
mildly — “ By the by, my darling, will you 
remember to get the gloves for Mrs. handover — 
two pairs, tan, six and a quarter?” 

“ Oh! yes, Lai, I’ll remember,” said Mignon. 

“ I will go and get rid of this dirty habit,” 
said Mrs. handover in a frozen sort of voice ; and 
away she went with a sudden accession of the 
Mrs. handover manner, which contrasted oddly 
enough with the skittishness of the mannef that 
she had brought in with her. Mignon’s great 
soft eyes followed her till she disappeared and it 
was with a charming smile that she turned to 
her husband, who was still holding her hand. 

“ Lai, dear,” she asked — “ do you remember 
Miss Dudley? ” 

Lucy shook his head. “No, my darling, I 
don’t,” he answered. 

“ Not ‘ the ghoul ’ ? ” she peraisted. 

“ Not in the least.” 

“ If you was my little girl,” quoted Mignon, 
referring to an incident of years and years 
before — “ I should not allow you to have any 
likes and dislikes. I am afraid your mother 
spoils you, my dear.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


69 


At the remembrance thus called up Lucy 
laughed out aloud, and he laughed yet more 
at the similarity between ‘ the ghoul ’ and Mrs. 
Landover which Mignon’s question implied 

“ What a funny child, you are,” he said, ten- 
derly as he set her hand free. 

In less than ten minutes Mrs. Landover came 
down again having got rid of her habit and got 
herself into a tea-gown, a garment of such re- 
splendent elegance that the old General, who was 
quite a connoisseur of feminine garments as he 
was of feminine charms, cast conventionality to 
the wind and at once complimented the lady 
upon its beauty. 

“ It’s a pretty gown and very comfortable,” 
said Mrs. Landover carelessly — “ I used not to 
like tea-gowns, as you may remember, Mignon. 
Now, I simply cannot live without them.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LITTLE DANCE. 

Chkistmas Day came and went, and I need 
not stop to tell anything about it because one 
Christmas is very much like another Christmas, 
and on this one nothing out of the common 
happened ; nothing at least that in any way 
affects my story. 


70 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


But three days later, Mrs. Ferrers, by way 
of making things a little pleasant for her guests, 
who were kept with their noses to the grind- 
stone of dramatic production, instead of the 
usual dinner-party in the evening, sent out invita- 
tions to a few of her neighbors for what in 
town would have been called a Cinderella. 
That is to say the house-party dined at seven 
instead of eiglit o’clock, and soon after eight the 
guests for the dance began to arrive. It was a 
prett}^ sight for all the men, or nearly all the 
men, came in pink, and nearly all the women 
wore white. Mignon wore a gown of soft 
India silk, which showed her pretty white neck 
and arms off to perfection. Sophy Carmine ap- 
peared in a white silk gown also ; but hers was of 
a thicker, heavier material, and was one which had 
seen service during the previous season. Mrs. 
Ferrers, too, was in white, but her gown was 
shaded by a good deal of black lace and a good 
quantity of black velvet, and on the left side of 
her bodice she had a cluster of pink feathers. 

Miss Maitland had on a pretty white muslin 
frock, and Mrs. Landover appeared in what she 
called ‘ a little Empire ’ gown. It was short in 
the waist and skimpy in the skirt, it had nothing 
at the back and a voluminous sash at one side 
towards the front ; it was entirely white and very 
soft, and without joking, Mrs. Landover looked 
about seventeen in it. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


71 


With her ‘ little Empire ’ gown Mrs. handover 
sported a fan made of a bunch of white plumes 
mounted on a mother-of-pearl handle, and round 
her throat she wore a string of pearls fastened 
by a diamond clasp. 

“ Do you like me ? ” she asked, turning herself 
slowly round before an admiring group gathered 
in the drawing-room, and finally letting her eyes 
rest upon Major Lucy so that she seemed to be ask- 
ing the question of him more than of any one else. 

“ Oh ! Mrs. handover, it is too charming,” ex- 
claimed Miss Maitland. 

“ It suits you delightfully,” said Sophy Car- 
mine. “ I feel like an old rag doll beside you.” 

“ You don’t look at all like an old rag doll, 
Sophy,” said Mignon quickly. 

“ Ah I but this is so pert and chic," said Sophy, 
touching her sister’s gown with caressing fingers. 

“ Vewry quaint,” remarked Major Lucy pla- 
cidly, “ wreally vewry quaint.” 

Mrs. handover tossed her head, she did not 
care to be called quaint. 

On this night, as a great treat, it being 
Christmas -time, the two elder of the Ferrers’ 
children were to sit up for the dinner and dance, 
and just then Pearl and Maud, in frocks that were 
the very counterparts of Mrs. handover’s, came 
into the room. 

“ Why, Jane,” remarked Pearl in surprised 
tones, “ your dress is just like ours.” 


72 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ So it is, dear,” replied Mrs. Landover, sud- 
denly feeling, between the child’s comment and 
Major Lucy’s, as if her gown was hideous and 
she had no more pleasure in it. 

“ Did your maid copy ours ? ” asked Maud, in 
all innocence, poor child, for her mother’s maid, 
Fanchette, was always glad to get a hint from a 
good model. 

“ My maid never copies any one,” said Mrs. 
Landover tartly. 

“ Dinner is served,” said Brown, at that 
moment. 

Mrs. Landover was quite relieved. It was 
such a comfort, she told herself, to get away 
from those horrid children and really she did 
think it so injudicious of Mrs. Ferrers to have 
them so continually to the front as they were. 

She did not, however, get so very far away from 
them ; for Maud, who went in to dinner in state on 
Mr. Alleyne’s arm to her intense satisfaction and 
his extreme amusement, sat immediately opposite 
to her, so that she was vexed by the sight of her 
own gown in miniature during the whole dinner. 
Major Lucy, too, whom she wanted to go in with, 
was put right up at the other end of the table 
where she could not even see him, while Mignon, 
whom she never wanted to see, sat just opposite 
to her between Geoffrey Landover and Mr. 
Brandon, who with his wife had come up from 
the Rectory to join the Court dinner-party. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


73 


“You’ll give me a couple of waltzes, won’t 
you, Mrs. Lucy ? ” she heard Geoffrey Landover 
say in his loud voice. 

She could not hear what Mignon said, but 
evidently she assented, for Mr. Landover pulled 
down his cuff and scribbled something upon it. 

“ Fancy Geoff asking that girl before he has 
asked me what I mean to give him,” thought 
Mrs. Landover indignantly. 

“ You are going to dance to-night, Mrs. Land- 
over? said Captain Ferrers at that moment. 

“Oh ! yes,” she answered. 

“ Will you dance 'the first waltz with me? ” 
he asked. “We open with a square as usual, 
you know,” and looked toward Mrs. Brandon as 
if to indicate that he was engaged to her for 
that. 

“ Oh ! I think not the first waltz, the second 
if you like,” said Mrs. Landover very graciously ; 
and then she saw Mr. Alleyne say something to 
Maud and Maud pass it on to Geoffrey Landover, 
who said in a voice which could well be heard 
all over the table. “ Mrs. Lucy, Alleyne wants 
to know if he may have the first waltz to-night?” 

Mignon bent forward and looked with a smile 
at Mr. Alleyne. “Not the first. I always dance 
that with Lai,” she answered. “But the third, 
if you like.” 

Mr. Alleyne began to write on his cuff. Mrs. 
Landover began to fan herself, although she waa 


74 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


not hot, in unutterable disgust. “They were all 
mad, those men,” she said to herself, “ about this 
milk-and-water chit, who had nothing in her, posi- 
tively not two ideas in her head, whom she had 
always disliked intensely, having thought her 
even more objectionable, at the same age, as she 
thought Pearl and Maud now. 

“ Do you dance ? ” she said abruptly to Colonel 
Kerr, who sat on her left hand. 

“ I have not danced for years,” he answered. 

It happened that Booties overheard both the 
question and the answer. 

“ Charlie, old fellow,” he said persuasively, 
“do you mean to say you have given up 
dancing ? ” 

“Pve never danced a step since I went to 
India,” Kerr answered. 

“ But, my dear old man, you must dance to- 
night — its good for you — it’s not the right thing 
for any man to give up dancing till he gets the 
gout or something of that sort to stop him.” 

“ I don’t think any one will want to dance 
with me,” said Kerr, rather sadly. 

“ I will, if you ask me,” said Mrs. Landover in 
her softest little voice. 

“ It’s awfully kind of you. I’m afraid, though, 
you’ll repent your good-nature,” he said. “ I 
shall prove about as clumsy as an elephant. 
Why, positively, I haven’t danced for twenty 
years.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


75 


“ Charlie, is it twenty years since you went 
away ? ” exclaimed Booties. 

“ Twenty years,” said Kerr. 

“ Twenty years. Yes, of course. Mignon is 
just twenty you know. How time flies.” 

“Yc.:,” said Kerr briefly. 

There was a story in Kerr’s life, a story to which 
Captain Ferrers held the key. It was a sad 
story, too, one in which a girl, young and fair, 
and all that was good and charming, had died of 
a broken heart, because the one love of her life 
had given her up for a passing infatuation ! 
Well, as Booties was thinking at that moment, 
it was a miserable story, and Kerr would blame 
himself for his folly and his inconstancy as long 
as he lived. And, yet twenty years had gone by, 
twenty years of voluntary exile and remorse, and 
surely that was penance enough for any man. 

He had been hard upon him at the time, very, 
very hard, for he had known and liked the dead 
girl with all his honest heart; but now when his 
old friend and he had come together again. Cap- 
tain Ferrers’ great wish was to help him to forget 
the past and try to be happy. 

At the other end of the table, Mrs. Ferrers was 
teasing the gallant old General. “ Do you mean 
to say, really and truly, that you have quite given 
up dancing ? ” she was saying. “ And you won’t 
even ask me to dance ? ” 

Yes, my dear lady, I do most emphatically,” 


76 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


he answered. “ Of course if you wish to honor 
me so far, I shall be delighted to walk through 
the square affair at the beginning. But at the 
same time, I am sure that you would easily find 
twenty more agreeable partners than a gouty old 
man like myself.’’ 

“ Well, I don’t want to make a martyr of you. 
General,” said Mrs. Ferrers smiling. “Are you 
dancing to-night, Sophy ? ” 

“ I think not to-night,” said Sophy languidly. 
“ I don’t feel as if I cared much about it, I am 
not very keen on dancing at any time you know.” 

“ Why,” Pearl broke out, aghast at this state- 
ment, when Major Lucy suddenly diverted her 
attention by saying, “ Pearl, I was always a fool 
or next door to it. Do you know what I’ve done 
now ? ” 

“No,” answered Pearl, forgetting her astonish- 
ment at Sophy Carmine’s assertions. 

“ I brought you and Maud each a fan from 
Farlington to-day, and I quite forgot to give 
them to you,” he said, solemnly. 

Now this was as much a stretch of the imagina- 
tion as Sophy’s remark that she was not very 
keen on dancing had been, and had she known it, 
the truthful Pearl would have been simply hor- 
rified and she would probably have gone into a 
catechism of the strictest kind — “ What he meant 
by it, and where he thought he was likely to go 
to if he told such stories?” Pearl, however, 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


77 


knew nothing of this and the divertissement was 
made, and those people within hearing breathed 
freely once more. 

“ A fan — a fan each ? ” she cried. “ Oh ! that 
is very lovely ; mother, do you hear ? Cecil has 
bought us each a fan ; isn’t it good of him ? ” 

Mrs. Ferrers smiled and patted Lucy’s arm. 
“You are always good, Cecil,” she said in a low 
voice ; then after an instant added with mean- 
ing, “ and ver^ considerate.” 

But, although Pearl’s attention was diverted 
for the moment, she had not forgotten Sophy 
Carmine’s assertion, and as soon as they reached 
the drawing-room again, she made for Maud that 
she might tell her about it. Equally also was Maud 
bursting to impart her gleanings to her sister, so 
the two retired to a distant sofa and settled them- 
selves comfortably upon it. 

“ I can’t think,” began Pearl, “ why, people 
want to tell stories. Sophy Carmine actually 
told General Coles at dinner that she wasn’t keen 
on dancing. Why, it was only the other day I 
heard her say she adored waltzing.” 

“Perhaps adoring it does mean being keen 
on it,” suggested Maud, who was alwaj’^s loath to 
believe the worst of any one. “ I wonder why 
Jane Landover was so vexed at our having frocks 
like hers ? ” 

“ Was she?” 

“Yes, for I heard her telling mother this 


78 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


morning that she going to wear a sweet ‘ little 
Empire ’ frock. 1 wonder why they call frocks 
like these, Empire frocks?” 

“ Oh ! I think,” said Pearl promptly, “ because 
they are the fashion in the Holy Roman Empire.” 

“ Where is the Holy Roman Empire ? ” de- 
manded Maud. 

“ In Rome, of course.” 

“ But the King of Italy lives in Rome ! If it 
was an Empire, they would have an Emperor, 
wouldn’t they ? ” 

“ Not in that one,” answered Pearl, “ for the 
Pope is in Rome too and has one palace, and the 
king has another. They are both kings, or sort 
of kings ; they seem to quarrel a good bit. But 
I know that one of them has a special empire all 
to himself with lords and ladies and everything. 
It’s very puzzling,” she ended with a sigh ; “ for 
I was reading an account of a wedding in the 
Queen yesterday, of an Irish girl who got married. 
It said she was a Countess and Canoness of the 
Holy Roman Empire, and yet she was a plain 
Miss and she was Irish, too. It’s very puzzling, 
I can’t make it out at all. But depend upon it 
that’s where the sweet ‘ little'Empire ’ frocks come 
from. 

“ Oh ! here’s Jane coming ! ” 

Mrs. Landover came and sat down near the 
two children. “Well, young women,” she said. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


7'J 

quite brightly. “ So you have got frocks just 
like mine.” 

“ Just like yours,” they cried in a breath. 

“It is a great treat stopping up for dinner,” 
Mrs. Landover went on, “and now I suppose you 
are going to bed ? ” 

“ Oh ! no,” said Pearl, “ we are both engaged 
for every dance ! How many dances are you 
engaged for, Jane ? ” 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ SWEETHEARTS.” 

The evening of the private theatricals at Fer- 
rers Court had come, and great was the excite- 
ment both before and behind the newly-painted 
drop-curtain of the stage, which stood at one end 
of the long ball-room. 

At eight o’clock the ball-room, or theatre — 
whichever you please to call it — was crammed 
even to suffocation; for, besides the twenty rows 
of chairs and front seats placed for the gentry, 
there was provision behind for all the tenants 
living near enough to the Court to be able to 
come ; and up in the gallery, where generally the 
musicians sat, were packed as many of the ser- 
vants and helpers about the place as could find 
standing-room. No, I don’t mean that they 


80 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


were all standing; but behind the double row of 
seats men were standing as close as they could 
crowd. 

In the front row of what we may call the 
stalls, sat, among some of the most important 
guests, Sophy Carmine, with her attendant Gen- 
eral ; and in the row behind her was Mrs. Land- 
over, with a pair of exceedingly long-handled 
eye-glasses, elaborately explaining to Major Lucy 
that she never preferred to sit in the front row, 
because she did not care about seeing the make-up 
of the performers. 

“ Then, my dear Mrs. Landover,” said Lucy, 
mildly, “ if you don't want to see the make-up, 
why do you trouble yourself to hold up those 
glasses all the evening ? ” 

Mrs. Landover put them down. “ Well, really. 
Major Lucy, I don’t know,” she answered. “ I 
think it is simply from the force of habit. It’s 
the fashion, you know, to use these things, and 
so one gets into a way of using them. But never 
mind my glasses. I want to ask you something. 
No, put your head nearer ; I must whisper it.” 

Lucy bent his head toward her. “ Yes ? ” he 
said, inquiringly. 

“ Do you think,” asked Mrs. Landover, putting 
her lips within an inch of his ear, “ that those 
two ” — pointing with her fan to the General and 
Sophy, who were exactly in front of them — “ are 
going to — to make a match of it ? ” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


81 


Major Lucy looked puzzled for a moment, 
then began to laugh immoderately. 

“Is it at all probable?” he asked, turning 
round in his seat and looking at Mrs. Landover 
with an interest as great as it was sudden. 

“ I fancy more than probable,” she answered. 
“All the same, lie’s the very last man in the 
world whom I should have expected Sophy to 
marry.” 

“ And he’s the last man in the world whom I 
should have expected to marry her, or any one 
else,” rejoined Lucy, bluntly. “ I thought old 
Coles was sworn off all that sort of thing.” 

“ Mrs. Lucy,” said Lester Brookes behind the 
curtain, at that moment, “ come and look through 
this. Really, the house is quite a sight.” 

“ Oh, what a lovely spy-hole ! ” cried Mignon, 
and looked through just in time to see her hus- 
band looking down with interest at Mrs. Land- 
over, and Jane looking up with tenderness at 
him. “ How she does make up to Lai,” she said 
to herself. “ It’s so silly of her ; and she little 
thinks how he dislikes her!” 

But all the same, during the rest of the even- 
ing, she did not forget that those two were sit- 
ting together : and, somehow or other, it was a 
circumstance which she would much rather have 
forgotten, if she could. 

The curtain went up a minute or two later, 
and all the audience were wrapt in the sight of 
6 


82 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


Mignon playing Jenny Spreadbrow' and Lester 
Brookes, the lover; Miss Maitland, looking 
piquant and lovely as the little maid, and Tommy 
Alleyne quite at home in the character of the 
old gardener. 

Mrs. handover put up her glasses again. “ I 
should have thought Mignon would look bet- 
ter as Jenny Spreadbrovv,” she remarked, in a 
tone that was scarcely disparaging, and yet which 
was not one of approval. 

Lucy looked at her quite sharply — for him. 
“ You don’t think she looks ugly, do you?” he 
asked, coolly. 

“ Oh ! Major Lucy ! ” she cried, in shocked 
accents — “ what a dreadful thing to say ! You 
don’t mean that you think dear Mignon ugly, 
surely ? ” 

“ I ? ” repeated Lucy. “ Why, I think my wife 
the loveliest woman I ever saw in my life. But 
I thought you found some fault with her appear- 
ance.” 

“ Not with her appearance — oh ! no. I was 
speaking from a dramatic point of view alto- 
gether. To be very pretty is one thing, and to 
look well on the stage is a totally different mat- 
ter. That Miss Maitland is pretty, is she not?” 

“Yes ; remarkably pwretty, and as clever as she 
is pwretty,” Lucy answered, smoothly. “The 
scenery and dwrop-scene are particularly well 
painted.” 


SOPHr CARMINE. 83 

“Oh! extremely so. She’s not much of an 
actress, you know.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. By-the-bye, why are not 
you acting to-night?” 

“I? Well, I used to do that sort of thing,” 
Mrs. Landover replied. “ But, to be quite can- 
did, acting is a great deal of trouble, and I 
thought I should enjoy myself better on this side 
of the curtain.” 

Meantime the couple in front was also discuss- 
ing the merits of the performers. 

“ Mignon is awfully pretty,” said Sophy Car- 
mine to the General. “ I tliink she gets pret- 
tier.” 

“ She was always pretty,” said the old man, 
genially ; “ and yet her father was one of the 
ugliest men you ever came across.” 

“ Oh ! Did you know him ? ” 

“ Of course I knew him. I saw him killed, 
poor chap ; at least I saw him thrown, and he 
died the same night.” 

“ And what was he like ? ” Sophy asked, with 
deep interest. 

“ Oh, a fair size, badly built, black and sallow, 
with black evil eyes and a sneering sort of 
mouth. A marvellously unpopular man — the 
most unpopular officer I ever knew in my life *, 
he was simply detested all round — in fact, 1 don’t 
believe the man had a friend in the world.” 


84 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Then how did Mrs. Ferrers come to marry 
him ? ” 

“ I believe he was her cousin, and that she had 
been brought up by his mother, and the match 
came about nobody quite knew how. It was a 
bad one for her, poor child ; for he never owned 
her as his wife until the night he died. I remem- 
ber that evening,” the old General went on, 
“ that I dined with the Scarlet Lancei's. It was 
a dreadful time, and we ate our dinner in silence, 
or almost in silence, for the poor chap was lying 
with his back broken just overhead. The awful 
part of it was that nobody cared. I don’t mean 
that nobody cared about the accident, because 
everybody was just as sorry as he could be that 
it had happened. But nobody had liked the 
man, and they couldn’t be more than sorry that 
the accident had happened, don’t you see ? ” 

“ Yes — I understand. And how old was Mig- 
non at that time ? ” 

“ Oh, she was about five years old, I think. 
Booties had had her several years. And then that 
night when Gilchrist told him that Mignon was 
his child — well, old Booties said very little about 
it, but we all knew it was an awful blow to him. 
It never made any difference to the child though — 
she was the same sunny little soul then that she 
is now — Booties adored her always. And then 
when he married Mrs. Gilchrist— why, it was 
right all round.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


85 

“ I never knew what the story was before,” 
said Sophy, interested beyond measure. “Of 
course I knew that there was a story, but I never 
knew the details of it. I don’t wonder that 
Mignon is so fond of Captain Ferrers — what a 
difference it must have made to him. By 
the by, have you noticed Miss Maitland at 
all?” 

“ Yes. She is very pretty,” returned the Gen- 
eral, promptly. 

“ She is lovely,” said Sophy, with honest ad- 
miration, “ and nice too. There’s nothing for- 
ward or disagreeable about her ! And more than 
one gentleman in the house has found it out.” 

“Eh? What? Who?” cried the General, 
asking three questions in almost the same breath. 

“Captain Brookes for one,” said Miss Car- 
mine, nodding her head airily. 

“ You don’t say so.” 

“Yes, I do,” she answered. 

“ And is it — is there — do you mean ” he 

began. 

Sophy nodded. “ Yes, I don’t think there 
is much doubt about it. And it will be a 
nice, suitable, pretty sort of marriage — I am 
always glad when a girl who stands practically 
alone in the world, gets married and is happy ; 
it’s a dreadful thing for a woman to be by her- 
self — to be alone,” and then Sophy sighed, as if 
she was speaking out of her own experience. 


86 


SOPHY CABMINE. 


The old General turned and looked at her 
sharply. “ Why do you sigh like that, Miss 
Sophy ? ” he asked. “ One might fancy that you 
know what it is to be alone in the world.” 

“ So I am — so I do,” she said, gravely — “ as 
much alone in reality as if I had not a single 
relation. My sister is married and is taken up 
with her dignity and her big house, her husband 
and one thing or another. My brother, whom we 
used to live with, is married now and his wife 
likes to liave her house to herself.” 

“ I am sure she must like to have you there,” 
said the General, testily. “No one could find 
you a nuisance.” 

“Well, perhaps not. Oh, I get on very well 
with her — I have never had the least little disa- 
greement with her, and I hope I never shall. 
But all the same, I know when I am wanted and 
when I am not ; and when my sistei-in-law asks 
me to go to ‘ The Lake ’ she always asks me 
from one date to another — well, one knows 
what that means. They spend the season in 
town — last season she asked me for a fort- 
night.” 

“ It is incredible,” blustered the General, al- 
most boiling over with indignation. 

Sophy laughed. “Yes, but the incredible 
things are very often true,” she said, quietly. 
“ So, you see, I do know what it is to be lonely, 
and I do know, nobody better, how to sympathize 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


87 


with a girl who suddenly finds herself lonely no 
longer.” 

“ Miss Sophy,” said the General, dropping his 
voice to a mere whisper, through which the 
strains of Auf Wedersehen floated softly, “ If I 
were younger, if I were Kerr’s age instead of an 
old man of fifty-five, I should ask nothing better 
than to try and make you forget that you have 
ever known what that kind of loneliness is.” 

Sophy Carmine’s heart seemed to stand still 
for a few moments — then it began to beat harder 
and faster than she had ever known it to do in 
her life. “Would you?” she said, in a tone 
which invited him to go on. 

“ But I’m such a broken down old wreck,” he 
continued — “ I’ve got the gout, and India has 
played the very deuce with me all round, and 
I’m not very well off — fifteen hundred a year is 
as much as I’ve got, all told.” 

“ It’s a very good income,” said Sophy, “ 1 
have only five.” 

“ The worst of it is I’m so old,” said the Gen- 
eral, with pathetic regret, “ I must be five-and- 
twenty years older than you at least, and 1 
might be forty years older to look at me.” 

“ Oh, no,” murmured Sophy, “ I am older than 
I look. But I never tell my age, except as a 
dead secret, to any one, because it vexes Jane 
so. You see I am three years older than she is 
and everybody knows it, because our brother 


88 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


comes in between. So Jane likes to be thought 
a great deal younger than I am ; and as I really 
look younger for my age than she does, we just 
say nothing, but let people think what they like.” 

“ But your sister must be thirty ” he be- 

gan, but stopped, not liking to put the question 
plainly. 

“ My brother is five-and-thirty,” said Sophy, 
quietly. “ You can draw your own deductions 
from that. General Coles.” 

“ Then — after all,” he exelaimed, eagerly, 
“ there’s no real reason why we should not — oh ! 
Miss Sophy, won’t you say something ? ” 

“ You have not yet asked me to say anything 
definite,” Sophy murmured, demurely. 

“ Miss Carmine — Sophy — will you give me 
the right to take care of you ? ” the old General 
pleaded. “ I shall be so proud, it will make me 
so happy — I’m not rich, but I’m a good sort of 
old fellow, I think — and I can give you a good 
time, I can promise you that.” 

Sophy laid a long fan of white ostrich plumes 
with which she had been tojdng all the evening, 
so as to cover the very small space between 
them, and then she slipped her hand into the 
one which he held out to her. 

“Yes,” she said, simply, “I know you will 
be all that is good and kind. I shall be very 
proud to become your wife.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


89 


CHAPTER X. 

THE LAST BIT OF LOCAL NEWS. 

In an incredibly short time the news of Sophy’s 
engagement to the General spread through 
the house, and every one ^as agog with excite- 
ment and curiosity. Probably neither Sophy 
nor the General would have told anybody a word 
about it that night, but Mignon happened to 
notice something unusual about the two as she 
came through the hall with Tommy Alleyne in 
quest of supper. 

Sophy and the General were sitting comfort- 
ably enough in the old oak settle, and Mignon 
stopped, sa3dng — “ You know there is supper in 
the dining-room to-night, Sophy ? ” 

“ Is there ? ” said Sophy, in what would have 
been an indifferent tone if she had not looked 
so bright and happy. 

“ Yes-^won’t you come, and have some ? ” 

“ Presently, dear,” returned Sophy. 

“ There are oysters,” said Mignon hospitably, 
feeling pretty sure that the General would be 
disappointed if he did not discover the fact till 
the oysters were all eaten, and there was nothing 
but the shells left to tantalize him. 


90 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ I’ll bring her in presently,” he said, and so 
Mignon went on with Tommy Alleyne, wonder 
filling her heart. 

In the supper-room she found Mrs. Ferrers. 

“ Mother,” she said in a whisper. “ Some- 
thing has happened.” 

“ Happened, where ? How ? ” exclaimed Mr. 
Ferrers anxiously. 

“ No, I don’t mean in that way,” said Mignon 
smiling, “ but with Sophy Carmine and the 
General.” 

“ Mignon, you don’t mean it,” cried Mrs. Fer- 
rers in great delight. 

“Well, they certainly didn’t tell me so,” re- 
plied Mignon cautiously — “ but there is some- 
thing, you keep your eye on them and you will 
see for yourself.” 

“ Where are they ? ” 

“On the settle in the hall,” but they are 
coming in to supper. 

“ Yes, there they are. Now, look at them — 
oh I depend upon it I am right. Now I’m going 
to get something to eat.” 

Mrs. Ferrers watched the pair for a few 
minutes, but then she could restrain her curiosity 
no longer and went round the table to where 
Sophy was standing toying with half-a-dozen 
oysters. 

“ Sophy,” she said meaningly, “ what is it ? ” 

Sophy’s eyes fell. — “Mrs. Ferrers,” she said. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


91 

“ Sophy dear,” said Mrs. Ferrers, “don’t keep 
me in suspense.” 

“I am so happy,” whispered Sophy. 

“ Oh ! my dear, I am so pleased, so glad,” 
whispered Mrs. Ferrers in the same low voice — 
“ I am so glad. Is it a secret ? May I tell 
Algy?” 

“ Oh ! I think so, I — ” Sophy began, when the 
old General came up behind them with a glass 
of champagne in his hand and overheard Mrs. 
Ferrers’ question and Sophy’s hesitating reply. 

“ Secret ! — what should there be secret about 
it? We are not ashamed of having gone and 
got engaged to each other — at least, I am not. 
I never felt so proud in my life as I do at this 
moment.” 

As quick as thought when he had put down 
the glass of champagne beside Sophy. Mrs. 
Ferrers took his hand in hers and shook it, look- 
ing at him with all her soul in her tender eyes. 

“ I am so glad about it,” she said, and her voice 
sounded glad too. “ So glad, for Sophy has been 
very lonely since Jane married Mr. Landover 
— and it is dreadful for a woman to be lonely. 
You can’t know how dreadful it is; but I do.” 

“She shall never feel, lonely again, Mrs. Fer- 
rers,” said the General heartily, “ not as long as 
I live, that is,” 

“No, I am sure of that. And I know you 
will be everything that is good, and kind, and 


92 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


charming. Sophy will have a delightful hus- 
band,” Mrs. Ferrers wound up breathlessly. 

“ And I a delightful wife,” said the Gen- 
eral, gallantly. 

“ Nobody knows it better than I,” rejoined the 
mistress of the Court, who was dying to get away 
and tell the news to Booties. “ And I may 
tell Algy ? Oh ! he will be so pleased.” 

She got away from them then, and went hastily 
in search of her husband, whom she found taking 
care of a stout old lady of title, who was the 
most important guest of the evening. 

“ Algy, I do want to speak to you, it’s most 
important,” she whispered, then turned to the 
stout old lady and said a few words in the win- 
ning way which had helped to make her one of 
the most favorite hostesses in the county. 

Captain Ferrers nodded to his wife, and a few 
minutes afterwards left the stout old lady under 
the care of Tommy Alleyne, who was an immense 
favorite with all important old ladies, and went 
to look for his wife. 

“What is it, darling?” he asked. “I hope 
nothing wrong.” 

“Algy,” exclaimed Mrs. Ferrei-s eagerly, 
“what do you think? You will never guess. 
Sophy Carmine and General Coles have come to 
an understanding.” 

“ What ? ” cried Booties, incredulously. 

“ They’re engaged,” asserted Mrs. Booties 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


93 


fcriumphantl}’. “ Yes, it’s true and it’s no secret. 
And, oh ! Algy, I’m so glad.” 

“ By Jove ! ” was all that Booties found breath 
to say. 

“ Mignon found it out first, and I went at 
once and asked Sophy,” Mrs. Ferrers went on; 
“and she looked so nice, and he spoke up so 
nicely and bravely about her never knowing 
what it was to feel lonely any more, really I 
was quite inclined to cry. I was, indeed.” 

“ You dear little tender-hearted woman, I can 
quite believe it,” Booties said, smiling down 
upon her. “Well, I must go back. I’ll just 
speak to them on my way, and when all these 
people are gone, we’ll drink tlieir health and 
be ever so jolly over it.” 

However, long before that, an inkling of what 
had happened had crept out among the people 
staying in the house, and although no body liked 
to plainly ask the suspected lovers about the 
rumor, everybody was eager for information. 

Well, it happened that Miss Maitland, on 
leaving the little stage, found lierself quite alone 
with apparently nobody at hand to take her in 
to supper or see that she was looked after in any 
way, and while she was hesitating whether to 
go on to the dining-room by herself or not. 
Colonel Kerr came down the wide old stairs and 
seeing that she was alone, stopped to speak to 
her. 


94 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Why, Miss Miiitland, you all alone ? ” he said, 
in surprise. 

“ Yes. I was rather long in changing my 
gown,” she answered, “and they all seem to have 
gone. I was just wondering whether to go in 
alone or not.” 

“ Alone ? I should hope not,” said he quickly. 
“ Do give me the pleasure of taking you in to 
supper.” 

“ Oh, I will, with pleasure,” said she, will- 
ingly. 

Ever since he had been in the house, this man 
had interested her and fascinated her more than 
any other man slie had ever met in her life. 
He was so big and so manly, his legs were long 
and his shoulders were broad, and he had a haugh- 
ty way of throwing back his head, a mere trick 
of manner, which to Dorothy Maitland was 
simply irresistible. Then he was an unusually 
handsome man, fair-haired, and with a skin that 
would have been fair, also, if the suns of twenty 
years spent in India had not bronzed it so darkly. 
And he had gray, gray eyes, real killing Irish 
eyes, and the pleasantest smile, when he did 
smile, which was but rarel3% — ‘ about once a day,’ 
Dorothy Maitland thoughts ran, — that the girl 
thought she had ever seen. 

And yet both before and since he had come, 
she had heard Captain Ferrers speak of him as 
‘ poor old Charlie,” in tones so full of pity that 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


95 


she felt sure there was some unhappy story in 
his life. Yet, what could it be ? It was not 
money, no, he had evidently always had plenty 
of money — he had always been keen at soldier- 
ing, and yet there was that something in the 
back-ground to which Captain Ferrers’ ‘poor 
old Charlie ’ referred ! She wondered what it 
was, as she had wondered many and many a time 
during the past few days. 

However, to-night, she thought he looked 
brisker and brighter than she had seen him look 
yet, and he found her a seat and hustled about to 
provide for her, which he did most comfortably 
and lavishly, and tlien lie fetched himself some 
supper too, and a bottle of champagne for them 
both, which he tucked out of sight on the floor, 
lest some unscrupulous prowler, after supper, 
should snatch a chance of seizing it and carrying 
it off. 

Twice he went off on the prowl himself, and 
during one of these absences, Mignon going 
gayly by with Tommy Alley ne, stopped and 
whispered the last bit of local news into Miss 
Maitland’s ear. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Colonel Kerr, who came 
back just in time to see Miss Maitland’s stare of 
surprise and hear her incredulous ejaculation — 
“ JVo, you don't say so ! ” 

“ Well, Mrs. Lucy says that General Coles and 
Miss Carmine are engaged,” replied Dorothy. 


96 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Engaged — old Coles ! oh ! ” and then some- 
how, Kerr went off into what was, perhaps, the 
gayest fit of laughter that he had indulged in 
for many and many a year. 

“ Well, it is funny, of course,” said Dorothy, 
who was showing all her pretty white teeth in a 
smile, “ but all the same, I can quite understand 
her. She is quite alone in the world, you know, 
except for that Mrs. Landover, who does not 
do much to make her life, or any one else’s life 
for that matter, the brighter. Well, I believe 
there is a brother, but she told me one day that he 
is married and his wife is a cold sort of woman. 
I don’t know that a brother or a brother’s wife 
would be much advantage to any one, or do 
much toward making one feel less alone in the 
world.” 

“ Have you no brother ? ” he asked. 

She shook her head. “ No. Nor father, nor 
mother, nor sister, not even a cousin. I haven’t 
a single relation that I know of in all the 
world.” 

“ And no home ? ” 

“And no home — except this,” she answered, 
“But they are very goc^ to me here.” 

“ Yes, I am sure they are. Old Booties is the 
best hearted fellow in the world, and Mrs. 
Ferrers seems to me to be just like him.” 

“ Y es, they are both good. They never snub 
you or make you feel uncomfortable, because you 


SoPtir CAitMiNE. 


97 


haven’t got a big house of your own, like a great 
many other people do. Now, Mrs. Landover,” 
Dorothy went on composedly eating a merangue, 
“ thinks it such a mistake of Mr. Ferrers to have 
that sort of person about, and those dreadful 
children always to the front — most injudicious, 
really — ” 

“ What sort of person ? ” asked Kerr, not un- 
derstanding. 

“ Me,” laughed Dorothy, patting herself 

“ Fow, oh ! she couldn’t have said that about 
you,” he broke out, indignantly. 

“ But she did. I heard it myself with my 
own ears. So, don’t you see. Colonel Kerr, with 
only a sister like that to stand between her and 
the world, it is no wonder that Miss Carmine 
lias accepted General Coles. For my part, 1 
hope she will always be very, very happy.” 

“And so do I,” said he heartily, and then he 
sighed, and Dorothy Maitland saw that the 
shadow had come back into his eyes again, and 
she was more touched by it and more wishful 
to know the cause of it than ever. 

“ Why need you sigh like that ? ” she asked. 

He looked at her with his handsome gray eyes 
that seemed to go through and through her. 
“Why?” he repeated. “Oh! I think I was 
envying'the old General his luck, and wishing 
that — that I could go and get married and be 


98 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


happy ever after. I think I was wishing that, 
Miss Maitland.” 

Then, you are married ? ” she asked. 

“ I ? oh ! no. I have never been married,” lie 
said, quickly. “What made you think so?” 

“ Because you spoke as if it was impossible for 
you ever to marry,” she said wonderingly. 

The shadow fell over his eyes again. “So it 
is,” he said, shortly ; “ utterly impossible.” 


CHAPTER H. 

A HEALTH TO THE BRIDE. 

When the last carriage had rolled away from 
the door, Captain Ferrers went back into the 
dining-room door and held a hurried consultation 
with the butler. 

“ Here, Brown. I want you,” he said. “ Get 
us some more champagne up at once — the best 
in the cellar. We’ve got to drink a health before 
we go to bed.” 

Now, Brown had been Booties’ body servant 
for many a year in the old Scarlet Lancer days 
and held a very confidential position indeed at 
Ferrers Court. 

“ Yes, sir. We had better clear away, hadn’t 


SOPUY CARMINE. 99 

we, sir ? Long ? — oh, dear, no, sir — ten minutes 
at the outside.” 

“ Yes, but be as quick as you can or the ladies 
will be running off to bed.” 

Brown made a sign to his subordinates, who 
redoubled their exertions to get the tables 
cleared, and himself disappeared in quest of the 
champagne necessary for the coming cere- 
mony. 

“ Mignon,” said Booties, catching sight of 
Mrs. Lucy at the door, “ don’t let any of them 
go to bed just yet.” 

“Very well,” said Mignon, and straightway 
went out into the hall where the various mem- 
bers of the household were gathered together 
preparatory to slipping away toward their beds 
or the smoking-room as their tastes or inclinations 
happened to run, and said, “ Will none of you go 
to bed, please. Booties has something or other on.” 

“ That is dreadful slang, Mignon,” remarked 
Pearl, who, with Maud, was but too delighted at 
the chance of sitting up half an hour later and 
thus beating any previous record in that line. 

“Slang, what was that? ’’asked Mignon, in 
genuine surprise. 

“ Well, to say father has got something ‘ on,’ ” 
Pearl answered ; “ at least, if we say so, we al- 
ways get sat upon horribly for it.” 

“I think,” murmured Mrs. Landover, to 
Mignon, “ that slang is such a mistake for women. 


100 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


for anybody, in fact. Why, those delightfully 
quaint children will be quite spoilt if they are 
allowed to become slangy.” 

For a moment Mignon felt as if her indigna- 
tion must boil over. The next moment the 
angry feeling, however, gave place to the most 
intense amusement, for Pearl had turned quickly 
round to the mistress of Landover Castle: 

“It was only yesterday, Jane,” she said, with 
a severe emphasis on Mrs. handover’s Christian 
name, “ that I heard you say to the Squire, ‘ Oh, 
what a lark ! ’ Was that a mistake, too ? ” 

“ I think it was you who was mistaken, 
darling,” answered Mrs. Landover with her 
sweetest smile. 

“ Oh, no, for I heard you, too, Jane,” chimed 
in Maud, eagerly. “We were in the hall here, 
looking at the papers, and the Squire came in 
and told you something in a whisper, we didn’t 
hear what, and you said right out loud, ‘ Oh 
what a lark ! ’ and then the Squire laughed, and 
Pearl and I looked at one another. We really 
were surprised,” Maud wound up. 

“ We couldn’t believe our ears,” added Pearl, 
“ because you always seem so shocked at any- 
body else’s slang.” 

• At this point Squire Landover, who remem- 
bered the incident perfectly, burst into an un- 
controllable fit of laughter, and in the face of 
this, Mrs. Landover was unable to continue her 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


101 


sweet protests about the children being mis- 
taken. And moreover, Maud, in her anxiety to 
tell the exact truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth, did not give her the chance of 
saying more than an imploring “ Geoff ! ” to her 
spouse, accompanied by a piteous look implying 
“ for mercy’s sake, help me out with these dread- 
ful children.” 

“We shouldn’t have told anybody about it, 
Jane,” Maud said, with dignity, “ because what- 
ever we are, we are not tell-tales, and we never 
meant to tell, only you reflected on Mignon’s 
character and so, of course, we had to,” and I 
am bound to say at this point the entire com- 
pany, who had been listening in intense amuse- 
ment to the small battle between Jane and the 
children, put a stop to further discussion by 
going off into shrieks of laughter, in which no- 
body joined with more apparent heartiness and 
enjoyment than Mrs. Landover herself. 

“Oh, my dear Mignon,” she exclaimed, put- 
ting a scrap of filmy lace to her eyes, “ what a 
pair of little champions you have in these two 
delicious little mortals.” 

“ Little pitchers, you mean,” said Mignon, 
smiling at the two children. 

Then Captain Ferrers appeared under the 
curtained archway which led to the inner hall 
and towards the dining-room. He went straight 
up to Sophy Carmine and offered her his arm 


102 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


saying, “ Miss Sophy, will you come into the 
dining-room ? ” 

Sophy rose at once. The other guests looked 
at one another, for they realized that the moment 
of satisfied curiosity was at hand. 

Well, they all trooped into the dining-room, 
where they saw Captain Ferrere put Sophy Car- 
mine into a seat near the head of the table, and 
then Brown solemnly began to fill up the glasses 
and the others to hand them round. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” said Booties, holding 
up the glass which Brown handed to him last of 
anyone, “ I have the pleasure and honor to an- 
nounce to you the engagement of Miss Carmine 
to my friend General Coles, and of asking you to 
drink a health to the bride-to-be.” 

To this, of course, everybody drank a bumper, 
and then somebody suggested the health of the 
bridegroom, and after that there was a general 
hum and buzz of chat and congratulation. 

Mrs. Landover’s congratulations were dis- 
tinctly characteristic. “I am quite charmed, 
Sophy,” she said, giving the edge of her cheek 
for her sister to kiss, “ it will be so much more 
agreeable in every way to have a married sister 
rather than an unmarried one. Of course you 
will be married from Jack’s place ? ” 

Booties, overhearing this, turned sharply 
round. “ Miss Sophy,” he said, quickly, “ you 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


103 


will give us the pleasure of the wedding, of 
course ? ” 

“ Oh ! Captain Ferrers,” Sophy said, “ you are 
good ; but as yet I haven’t thought about it or 
anything.” 

“ Of course you haven’t ; but there are ques- 
tions that cannot be settled too soon, eh. Gen- 
eral?” slipping his hand under the old soldier’s 
arm. 

“ Wherever Sophy wishes,” returned the Gen- 
eral heartily. 

“Then it sliall be here, eh, Miss Sophy?” 
said Booties. “ Now come, say that you will.” 

“But it seems such a trouble to you,” said 
Sophy reluctantly, looking at her sister. 

“ Of course, Geoff and I will be delighted 
to have the wedding at Landover,” said Mrs. 
Landover, with elaborate politeness. 

“ Of coui'se we shall,” chimed in Squii-e Land- 
over, heartily, “ and though it’s awfully good of 
you, Ferrers, and all that, it seems more natural 
for the event to come off at our house.” 

“ Not a bit of it. We have known Miss Sophy 
ages longer than you have,” laughed Booties, 
“ and it’s a bad time of year, and you’ve a tre- 
mendous walk up to Landover Church from the 
Lych Gate, and no possibility of getting a car- 
riage anywhere near the church door, and Coles 
here is an old friend of mine, and — I — we all 
love a wedding. You can’t give any of us a 


104 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


greater treat than to give us a wedding to 
manage. Can they, Nell ? ” appealing to his wife. 

“ Say yes, Sophy dear,” said Mrs. Ferrers, in 
her most persuasive accents. “ I think I deserve 
it.” 

“ Of course if you put it like that,” murmured 
Sophy, who was dying to be married from Fer- 
rers Court, only she did not quite like to say so. 

“ That’s right,” cried Booties, “ ’pon my word 
I think we ought to have another bumper on the 
strength of it.” 

Nobody, however, at that late hour felt in- 
clined to venture on that course, and the whole 
party gradually cleared out into the hall, where 
they lingered about in little groups, most of 
them discussing the great event. 

Mrs. Ferrers sent Pearl and Maud off to bed. 
“ Good-night, my darlings,” she said, kissing 
them. “ It is dreadfully late, and you both look 
all eyes. Don’t hurry up in the morning.” 

“ Good-night, mother dear,” they said, and 
went off without another word, only stopping to 
liug Sophy Carmine and tell her they loved her, 
and hoped she would be awfully happy when 
she was married, as happy as Mignon and Major 
Lucy. “ And you’ll ask us to be your brides- 
maids, Sophy, won’t you? ” ended Pearl. 

“ Of course I shall,” answered Sophy, to 
whom such an arrangement seemed an admirable 
one. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


105 


“ Tliat will be lovely. And, Sophy dear, you 
won’t expect us to call you ‘ Mrs. Coles,’ will 
you ? ” Pearl asked, as a special concession to 
Sophy, on account of their liking; for her. 

“ Because we never shall,” cried Maud reso- 
lutely. 

“ No, darlings, you never shall,” Sophy an- 
swered gayly ; and then the two slim little figures 
in their pretty white frocks went hand in hand 
up the wide stairs and disappeared in the direc- 
tion of their own room. 

“Se'^ins to me,” said Lester Brookes, sitting 
down on a couch beside Dorothy Maitland, 
“that the very mention of a wedding is enough 
to set this house in a blaze of excitement. Really 
I don’t know whether Mrs. Booties or old 
Booties himself is the most inveterate match- 
maker of the two ” 

“ Oh ! Mrs. Ferrers decidedly,” Dorothy an- 
swered at once. “ Captain Ferrers thoroughly 
enjoys the fun when somebody else has made 
the match. Mrs. Ferrers leaves no stone un- 
turned to bring the match about.” 

“ Oh ! that is it ! I wonder now if Mrs. Ferrers 
could manage a match for me, if I asked her 
about it ? ” 

Miss Maitland laughed in a very whole-hearted 
and unembarrassed way. “ I will ask her ; and 
if you really want to give her an unqualified 
pleasure, put yourself in her hands and let her 


106 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


marry you to somebody right off. But I shouldn’t 
tell her to-night if I were you, for I am sure 
with the excitement of this engagement fresh in 
her mind she will never sleep a wink. Wait till 
the morning and then state your case, and ask 
her advice.” 

He looked at her keenly. “You think that 
would be the best thing for me to do. Miss Mait- 
land?” 

“Yes, if you can’t make up your mind for 
yourself,” she returned. 

“ But supposing that I could make up my 
mind — that I have already made up my mind,” 
he said, significantly. 

“ Ah ! well, of course, you know the best about 
that,” she said, simply. 

He watched her for a minute or so as she toyed 
with the fan of feathers which she had carried 
that evening, and saw. all too plainly for his 
liking, that she was not in the least touched by 
the sentimentality of his tone. In fact, Dorothy 
Maitland was not one of those young women 
who sees a probable husband in every unmarried 
man who spoke to her or who paid her a few 
passing compliments. At that moment she was 
looking bright and piquant, but so utterly uncon- 
scious as to any intentions he might have 
towards her, that Lester Brookes, rich, gay, hand- 
some dragoon that he was, felt as if he had run 
his head against a blank wall. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


107 


It is not altogether a pleasant feeling, though 
sometimes it is a useful one, even when one 
hardly recognizes its usefulness at the time ; and 
when Lester Brookes discovered that he was 
feeling just that, he heaved a great sigh by way 
of attracting her attention. 

“ I never thought I should know what it was 
.to envy old Coles,” he said, ironically. 

Dorothy looked round at him with scared 
eyes — “ What ! Then you have made up your 
mind all the time?” she exclaimed. 

“ Yes,” he admitted. 

“ And he has stepped in before you ? Oh ! 
poor thing. I am sorry for you,” she cried. “ Why 
ever didn’t you ask her before it was too late ? ” 

For a minute he stared fit her incredulously, 
and then the full beauty of the situation pre- 
sented itself to his mind. “ Miss Maitland,” he 
said, “you, don’t understand. I am not envying 
the General his bride — only his luck in being 
about to be married.” 

“ How very odd,” said she absently, “ You are 
the second man who has made the same remark 
to me to-night.” 

“ And the other one was ? ” 

“ Oh ! I cannot tell you .that,” she said 
quickly. 

“No, of course not,” he answered; and then 
he looked up moved by some undefinable motive, 
and saw Colonel Kerr standing at a- little dis- 


108 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


Unce, his eyes fixed upon them, and he knew as 
if by magic that he was “ the other one.” 

By an uncontrollable impulse he got up, with 
some idle excuse, and moved away. “ Hang the 
fellow, how handsome he is,” he said to himself. 
“ I suppose I — ” and there his thoughts were 
interrupted by seeing Colonel Kerr going across 
the hall and seat himself just where he had been 
sitting beside Dorothy Maitland. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT. 

A FEW days had gone by and the excitement 
of the love affair had somewhat passed off. The 
General had made a mysterious expedition into 
Farlington, where he paid a visit to one Mr. 
Bond, the principal jeweller of that town, and a 
few hours later Sophy Carmine became the 
owner of a resplendent ring of sapphires and 
diamonds, and also of a beautiful brooch in the 
form of a crescent to match it. The children 
were greatly excited about them. 

“ Sophy,” said Pearl eagerly, when the stan- 
hope containing the bridegroom elect had driven 
away from the courtyard — “ Sophy, the General 
has gone into Farlington and I heard him ask 
father just now, which was the best jeweller’s ? 


SOPHY CARMINE. 109 

Father said of course, that Mr. Bond’s was the 
best — ” 

“Well, father didn’t exactly say that, Pearl,” 
broke in Maud ; “ what he said exactly was 
— ‘ Ah ! that’s it, old chap, eh? Well you go and 
talk to old Bond — one of the best fellows in the 
world, does all that kind of business for me — 
just as honest as daylight. Tell him you are 
staying here and he won’t treat you any the 
worse for it. I’ll promise you.’ Now that was 
what father said exactly. Pearl.” 

“ Well, so it was,” Pearl admitted, “ but I 
gave Sophy the gist of it, you know.” 

Sophy Carmine burst out laughing. To tell 
the truth, ever since she had been in the house, 
she had been puzzled by the wonderful com- 
mand of language possessed and displayed by 
these two young damsels. For instance, when 
she had heard one of them tell Mrs. Land- 
over that they would not have said a word if she 
had not cast reflections upon Mignon’s character, 
and now to be talking quite in a grown-up man- 
ner about giving her the gist of her father’s re- 
marks. “ Now, how in the world,” she asked, 
“did you get hold of such a word as gist? ” 

Pearl edged a little nearer to her and rested 
her head upon her shoulder. “Well, Sophy, I 
don’t think either Maud or me knows just alto- 
gether what gist means, but you know mother 
can’t bear us to be slangy ; and, though father 


110 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


rather slangy and stablish at times, he doesn’t like 
us to be slangy either, because he wants us to be 
just like mother, and mother isn't slangy, you 
know. So Maud and I agreed that we would 
never be the least little slangy, if we could help 
it. But sometimes we hear father say things, 
and then we say them because we think they’re 
all right, and sometimes, you know, they turn 
out to be slangy and then we have to get off 
them. It’s rather a bore, sometimes, when the 
slang just says what you want to say, and try as 
you will, you can’t find out exactly the proper 
words to put your thoughts into.” 

“Well, that is rather a nuisance,” Sophy an- 
swered, with a laugh. “ And about ‘ gist ’ ? ” 

“Well, you see poor Fraulein, our German 
governess, has been really ill ever since the day 
you came here — in fact, she has had to be in 
bed most of the time, and I believe she cries to 
go home, and is altogether very miserable and 
dull. Mother goes several times a day to sit 
with her, and she gave her the prettiest Christ- 
mas present of anybody, because she was ill. 
Mother always does those things, Sophy, because 
once — a long time ago — before she had ever seen 
father at all — when, in fact, she had another 
husband, who was Mignon’s father, you know — 
mother was very dull and miserable herself, and 
so she is always awfully sorry for people who are 
not so happy as she is now. And Miss Maitland, 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


Ill 


she goes and sits with Fraiilein, too, pretty often 
— and I don’t know how it is, but Fraulein used to 
think Miss Maitland was frivolous, but she never 
saj’s she is frivolous now. And then we go to 
sit with her, too — Maud and I, that is. Bertie 
and Cecil never would because Bertie always has 
an uneasy conscience and Cecil always does as 
Bertie does. So now, of course, they are at the 
Rectory, and out of the way. But Maud and I 
go twice every day and sit with Frauleiu ; we 
don’t very much like her, you know.” 

“ We don’t like her at all,” put in Maud, 
honestly. 

“Well, that’s true, we don’t; but, anyway, 
we do go, and the other day I was telling her 
about the theatricals and I happened to say, 
‘ There, Fraulein, I think I’ve given you the 
cream of it,’ and really, Sophy, it is what yon 
may hear father say almost any day; but poor 
Fraulein, she nearly had a fit — she nearly choked, 
and she said it was dreadful — dreadful 1 Then 
we asked her, of course, what we ought to say, 
and she told us to say ‘ the gist of it.’ We 
thought it very funny,” Pearl ended, with a 
puzzled sigh ; “ and we even looked it out in the 
dictionary, but that didn’t help us to understand 
it any better ; so we just thought we would use 
it and find out what it meant afterward.” 

“But didn’t the dictionary tell you? ” asked 
Sophy, greatly amused^ 


112 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ No, it didn’t, exactly. It said something 
about lodgings and something about pith, and 
then we looked at pith, and we found it is the 
inside of trees or the marrow of bones, and as 
that couldn’t have anything to do with lodgings, 
we didn’t see how it could have anything to do 
with our theatricals. So we gave up trying to 
find out about it any more.” 

“ But the funniest thing was,” cried Maud, 
“ that yesterday Pearl asked father if he knew 
what the gist of a thing was of telling a story or 
giving an account of anything? Father looked 
ever so puzzled for a minute, and then he said : 

‘ Oh, well, if you don’t want to tell exactly a 
whole story, you just give the gist of it.’ 

“ ‘ Well, but what does gist mean ? ’ we asked. 

“ ‘ Oh ! ” said father, “ ‘ the cream of it, to be 
sure.’ So Pearl and I gave it up after that,” Maud 
ended philosophically. 

Sophy Carmine laughed — “ I should think so, 
you poor puzzled little souls.” 

“ But, Sophy,” asked Pearl, “ what has the 
General gone to Mr. Bond’s to buy ? ” 

Some ladies in Sophy’s position might have 
avoided such a question, but Sophy’s hold over 
these children consisted in thedact that she never 
prevaricated. Slie always answered them as if 
they were her equals in age. 

“ Well, you need not tell everybody about it, 
dears,” she said, simply, “ but I think the 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


113 


General has gone to Farlington to buy me 
something.” 

“Of course he has — but what?" they de- 
manded. 

“ I think it will be a ring,” said Sophy, flush- 
ing a little. 

“ Of course,” said Pearl, “ people always 
have engagement rings when they’re going to be 
married. Father gave motlier a diamond one. 
She always wears it. First she wears her wed- 
ding-ring — then the turquoise one that fathei- 
gave her the day they were married, and then 
her engagement ring.” 

Well, in due course, the General came back 
almost frozen to death by the diive in the 
stanhope, but nevertheless beaming and more 
charmed by the delights of the cosy corner by 
the hall-fire, and the sympathetic murmured talk 
of his fair intended, than ever. And then every- 
body wanted to see Sophy’s ring and expressed 
themselves delighted with the beautiful crescent, 
and for Sophy it was quite a gala-time, a time 
indeed with only one discordant note to mar its 
melody and harmony. 

“Really, Sopliy,” said Mrs. Landover, after 
closely examining the crescent, “you are lucky. 
Why, I haven’t got a finer brooch than this one. 
You wont know us after a time, if you go on 
having such lovely presents as these.” 

For a moment there was a dead silence, Sophy 
8 


114 


SOPHY CAB MINE. 


looked up with eyes that were filled with pain, 
and the consternation on the old General’s face 
was almost ludicrous ; Dorothy Maitland, who 
had felt the sting of Mrs. l^andover’s sharp 
tongue and had a fellow-feeling of the most 
tender kind for Sopliy Carmine, fairly caught 
her breath in a gasp, while Mignon drew up her 
proud young head higher tlian ever any of those 
present had ever seen her hold it, excepting on 
one memorable occasion when something — Jane 
Carmine, to be explicit — had come between her 
and Major Lucy for the first and only time in all 
their lives. 

Mrs. Ferrers came quickly to the rescue. “It 
is a beautiful ring, dear Sophy,” she said, “ and 
a more beautiful brooch, and I hope you will 
wear them for many and many a happy year. 1 
am so fond of sapphires — and blue is your 
favorite color, too, isn’t it? Ah ! here is Brown 
with the tea. Do you know I feel quite sad to 
think that by to-morrow at this time our pleasant 
party will be broken up, and only some of us 
will be left. I suppose you are obliged to go,” 
turning to Tommy Alleyne. 

“My dear Mrs. Ferrers, I have been here an 
unconscionable time already,” he answered. 

Mrs. Ferrers smiled. “ Yes, I know that a 
few days in the country is like a season in town. 
Miss Maitland, will you help me with the tea, 
dear? ” — then as Dorothy turned quickly toward 


SOPHY CABmNE. 


115 


her, whispered: “Talk — flirt — tlo anything to 
take off the awkwardness, my dear. Really, 
Mrs. Landover is'’ — and then she broke off 
short as Pearl approached the table. 

The injunction was, however, unnecessary, for 
Mignon in her disgust and anger was doing pre- 
cisely what her mother had asked Dorothy 
Maitland to do, for she had knelt down beside 
Sophy and was, with much joking, pinning tlie 
beautiful crescent in her gown. 

“If I put it just there where the bodice 
fastens,” she cried, gaily liolding the brooch up 
against that part of Sophy’s gown where the but- 
tons began, that is, just below the left shoulder. 
“ And do you know it just matches the color of 
the velvet? Is this a Redfern gown? Why 
don’t you have one like it, Jane? It would suit 
you ever so much better than those be-frilled 
affairs you always wear.” 

Mrs. Landover, quite unconscious of the little 
stir that she had made, glanced with a simper 
down her elaborate tea-gown of heliotrope brocade 
and old Oriental embroidery. “ Oh ! I simply 
live in my tea-gown,” she said. “ I should die 
if I sat indoors in a tight gown like Sophy’s.” 

“ Well, that might be so,” returned Mignon, 
dryly ; “ but all the same you would look a great 
deal better in it and a good ten years younger.” 

“ Oh, no. My woman tells me this suits me 


116 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


exactly,” smoothing out the rich folds com- 
placently. 

“ A cup of tea, Mrs. Landover ? ” said Mr. 
Alley ne at that moment. 

“ Oh ! thanks so much. Ah, here are the 
gentlemen. Well, Major Lucy, have you had a 
good run ? Sit down here and tell me about it. 
I am so interested in all that sort of thing, you 
know.” 

Lucy sat down beside her with a tired sigh. 
“We’ve had a vewry stiff day, Mrs. Landovah,” 
he answered deliberately. “ Tommy, my dear 
fellow, since you’wre so pwressiiig, I will have 
a cup of tea. Well, my dearest,” to Mignon, as 
she drew near them, “ what have you been doing 
with yourself all day ? ” 

“ Oh ! amusing myself,” Mignon answered. 

“ And amusing Colonel Kerr, too,” put in 
Mrs. Landover, with apparent innocence. “ I 
am getting quite jealous of Mignon,” Major 
Lucy laughed serenely as he stirred his tea, but 
Mignon turned her head and looked straight in- 
to her pale eyes. “ I do not think that you will 
ever get jealous of me, my dear Jane,” she said 
quietly, yet with meaning. 

“Of course, I was only joking,” said Mrs. 
Landover, uneasily. 


HOFHY CAliMl^K 


117 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“ NO.” 

By eleven o’clock the next morning Mr. and 
Ml'S. Landover betook themselves away from Fer- 
rers Court, going thence to London for a few days 
— as Mrs. Landover elaborately explained, because 
she wanted to see “ my woman ” about some 
gowns. 

“ One can’t go about without things,” she said 
lackadaisically to Major Lucy, and to whom she 
had, in a sort of come-by-chance way, placed her- 
self at breakfast. 

“ No, I suppose not,” said Lucy, politely. 

“ Of course, my woman is very good, and gives 
me very little ti'ouble over my things,” she went 
on. “ When she has something quite in my own 
style she lets me know, which is such a con- 
venience. It’s such a bore thinking out one’s 
clothes into proper combinations.” 

Now Mignon, sitting on the opposite side of 
the table, happened to hear these remarks, and 
might have been annoyed if she had not seen the 
gleam of amusement in her husband’s face, and 
known by the way in which he smoothed his fair 


118 


SOPHY CABMINE. 


moustache that a spirit of mischief had entered 
into him. 

“ Yes, he said, sweetly, “ you’wre quite 
wright, Mrs. Landovah; it must be a bore un- 
questionably. It would never have suited you 
to have mar wried anybody less wrich than Land- 
ovah. If you wremember, I always wrecom- 
meuded the palatial style of life to you.” 

Mrs. Landover began to look sentimental at 
once. “ Oh, I don’t think I care an3’thing about 
money. Major Lucy. 1 never give it a thought 
—I don’t really.” 

“ Possibly not — vewry possibly' not,” said 
Lucy, serenely. “ But if 3'ou, for instance, had 
marwried some poor beggar in a marching wregi- 
ment instead of Landovah, 3 011 would have had 
to think about money, and to think a good deal 
about it, too.” 

“ Oh, yes, in that way ; but I should never 
have money weigh in the balance against my 
affection,” she asserted. 

“ Ah! but take my word for it, my deah Mrs. 
Landovah,” said Lucy, “ that vou would never, 
under any circumstances, have found the march- 
ing wregiment so tlioroughly to 3'our taste as the 
palatial mansion.” 

“ Perhaps,” in a ver3' doubtful tone. 

“ Now, to some women, the details of their 
lives makes but little diffewrence to their happi- 
ness. Take my wife, for instance : it’s all one 


SOPHY CARMINE. 119 

to her whether she lives in two rooms or a man- 
sion.” 

“ Oh ! but Mignon was brought up in a bar- 
rack,” said Mrs. Landover, tartly. 

“ The best bwringing up, too, that a soldier’s 
wife can have,” said Lucy, quickly. “But put 
her in a castle, with the wrong people, and ” 

Mrs. Landover rose from the table with a sigh. 
“Andslie would be like many another woman 
who lives in a castle, Major Lucy,” she said, sig- 
nificantly — “she would be miserable.” And 
then she went away, leaving Lucy stroking his 
moustache thoughtfully, and wondering if cir- 
cumstances had not been rather hard on the little 
woman, after all. 

Mignon was eloquent about the matter. “A 
woman with a respect for herself or for her 
husband wouldn’t let herself whine about being 
miserable because she had had a fancy to marry 
a man who did not want to marry her ; and you 
never did want to marry her, did you, Lai ? ” 

“ Never ! ” said he, with emphasis. 

Well, an hour later saw the Landovers driving 
out of the great court-yard, with Mrs. Ferrers in 
the open carriage ; and I must confess that Mrs. 
Lucy and Sophy Carmine, who were standing 
together on the steps of the principal entrance 
of the Court, gave a great sigh of relief as 
the carriage disappeared under the archway which 
led to the avenue. 


120 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Are you very sorry she has gone, Sophy ? ” 
Mignon asked, slipping her hand into Miss Car- 
mine’s, and feeling a thrill of compunction that 
she should feel so glad at their departure. 

Sophy Carmine turned and looked at her. As 
I l^ve said, she never prevaricated, and she did 
not prevaricate then. “ Sorry, my dear Mignon ? ” 
she said, frankly — “ Jane is always a little trying 
to live with, but I have never known her so 
utterly unbearable as slie has been the last few 
days. I begin to breathe.” 

“What is it?” asked Mignon. “Isn’t she 
happy?” 

“ Oh, as happy as she will ever be,” Sophy 
answered, carelessly. 

A few hoims later Mr. Alley ne also departed, 
and Colonel Kerr also made a feeble effort to get 
away. 

“ My dear Booties,” he urged, “ I have been 
here a fortnight already.” 

“ And, my dear old chap, you are going to stay 
another fortniglit,” Booties answered, “ and an- 
other after fhat — No, it’s not the least use, your 
pretending you’ve got business in town ; you've 
got no business you can’t transact just as well, if 
not rather better, by means of the post. You may 
just as well make up your mind to what is a fact 
— that you are 7iot going.” 

“ But, Booties ” he began. 

“ My dear Cliarlie,” broke in Booties, “ was 


SOPHY CAHMINE. 


121 


there ever a time, in the old days, when yon 
didn’t have to give in to me and do what I told 
you? It’s no use saying anything more about 
it, because I have made up my mind that you are 
going to stay where you are.” 

So at Ferrers Court Kerr had to remain ; and 
as the general atmosphere became very much more 
lively, chiefly because Mrs. Landover had de- 
parted, he settled himself quietly down and set 
himself to bear what he fain would have avoided 
— the task of watching Lester Brookes tiy to 
win the love of the dark -eyed, soft-voiced little 
girl, Dorothy Maitland. 

Probably never had the life of a man changed 
more utterly in the course of a few months than 
had that of Colonel Kerr. He had been in India 
for twenty years, and during that time he had 
lived the life of a hermit. He had lived with no 
intention whatever of coming home again ; he 
had meant to die in the East. Then he had had 
one or two sharp attacks of fever, which had told 
upon him terribly — he who had never been ill in 
all his life before — and he had been ordered 
home ; and, in spite of himself and his resolu- 
tions, he had practically been forced to obey. 

And here he was at Ferrei-s Court again, he 
who had been Captain Ferrers’ greatest friend 
in days gone by, and here he was with the old fa- 
miliar “ Charlie ” in his ears, with the old familiar 
feeling of Booties’ arm thrust through his, as if 


122 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


there had never been those months of estrange- 
ment and twenty years of separation between 
them. 

It was all very, very delightful to him, to see 
his old friend in his own home where he had 
stayed many and many a time when everything 
was different, when there was no beautiful wife 
whose presence pervaded the place, no happy, 
blooming, golden-haired, outspoken children ; 
when there had only been a party of more or 
less noisy soldiers and there had been no 
Dorothy Maitland. 

“ I say, dearest,” said Captain Ferrers to his 
wife one day, two or three days in fact after Mrs. 
Landover had gone, “ have you got anything on 
your mind?” 

Mrs. Ferrers looked distinctly startled. “ On 
my mind, Algy? No, dear. What do you 
mean ?” she said. 

Captain Ferrers laughed. “I didn’t certainly 
mean in that way,” he answered, “ but — but have 
you noticed anything fresli, lately ?” 

“ Fresh, Algy ? do explain,” she said. 

“Well, with Miss Maitland!” he explained. 
“ It seems to me that Lester Brookes is getting — ” 

Mrs. Ferrers burst out laughing. “ Oh ! my 
dear blind old cat, have you only just found that 
out? ” she exclaimed. “Why, my dearest boy, 
Captain Brookes has been desperate., desperate ! 
ever since he first set eyes on her,” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


123 


Booties looked thoroughl}^ astounded. “ You 
don’t say so?” he cried. “You surprise me. 
Well, it couldn’t be better, I suppose, even to 
please you. She is pretty and good and charm- 
ing, and Brookes has heaps of money, and is one 
of the best fellows I ever knew in my life. 
Then I suppose we shall be having another 
wedding here ? Isn’t it wonderful how things 
come about ? ” 

“ Well, it hasn’t come about yet, dear,” re- 
turned Mrs. Ferrers ; “ and, until it does, pray be 
careful not to say a word, not even to look as if 
you noticed anything.” 

“ Oh ! I’ll shirk scrupulously,” said Booties, 
with a laugh. 

Now, oddly enough, at that very moment, 
Lester Brookes was sitting in the large conserva- 
tory with Miss Maitland and engaged in urging 
his suit upon her with all the fervor and energy of 
which he was possessed. For days past he had 
been quite easy in his mind on the score of 
Colonel Kerr as a possible rival ; for although he 
knew that a more dangerous one could scarcely 
be found, should the Colonel wish to make him- 
self dangerous, it did not seem to him that he 
had the least desire to enter the lists against him, 
or that he even took any special pleasure in Miss 
Maitland’s society. 

“I’m pretty well off,” he was saying at the 
very moment that Mrs. Ferrers was adjuring her 


124 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


husband to be discreet in taking notes of Avhat 
was going on around him. “ In fact, Miss Mait- 
land, I’m rather more than well off. I’m what 
you might almost call rich. I’ve got a pretty 
place up in Caithness and a house in town, only 
that’s let for six years yet, it’s true. I’m five 
and thirty, and — and I believe, I’m the best- 
tempered fellow in the service — ^yes, I do in- 
deed. 

“I should think you were good-tempered,” 
said Dorothy, looking at him kindly. “ And 
what a prize you’ll be for somebody, some day or 
other, and how glad you will be then that I said 
no instead of yes.” 

She was quite friendly and collected, not upset 
or overcome in the very least by the exceedingly 
advantageous offer which had just been laid at 
her feet, and she put out a calm and friendly 
hand and laid it in his outstretched supplicating 
one and let it lie there, just as she might have 
done in Mignon’s or Mrs. Ferrers’. 

“ But, Miss Maitland ! ” he cried. “ Dorothy, 
why should you say no. why shouldn’t you say 
yes ? Are my feelings to go for nothing ? Is 
my love to count for nothing ? ” 

Dorothy Maitland shook her head. “ Captain 
Brookes,” she said, gently, “ I know it is very, 
very kind of you to wish to make me happy, but 
I am quite sure that you do not really love 
me. I don’t know why. I only feel that you 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


125 


have no real love for me. I can quite under- 
stand it. You came here and you saw me in a 
position of what the world calls dependence. 
Mrs. Landover snubbed me and called me ‘ that 
sort of person ’ almost to my face, and you 
resented it for me. You see me poor and not as 
well dressed as some of the others ; and you, who 
are rich, think it is a shame that a pretty girl — 
oh ! yes, yes, I know that I am pretty in a 
fashion — should not have as many frocks and as 
many pairs of gloves as she would like to have, 
and you would like to give me everything that 
money could give me. But something, I don’t 
know what, tells me that it isn’t the real down- 
right love that would risk everything and dare 
all for my sake. There is a great deal of pity in 
your feeling for me, and — and I don’t want to be 
married for pity.” 

“ Dorothy, I swear to you — ” he began eagerly. 

Dorothy shook her head. “ No, don’t,” she 
said. “We will leave all this for a little while, 
as if it had never been said, and next year you 
will perhaps come and spend part of your long 
leave at Ferrers’ Court, and then you will say 
that I was right.” 

“ And — but oh ! Dorothy, think — do think 
for a moment,” he urged, “ I assure you I shall 
be just the same to-morrow as to-day. Next 
year as this ! Believe me, pity has nothing to do 
with my wish to have you for my wife. It is 


126 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


only because I love — I love you with all my 
heart, indeed I do.” 

But Dorothy still shook her head. “ Oh ! Cap- 
tain Brookes,” she answered, “ please don’t say 
any more about it. I cannot give you any differ- 
ent reply, I like you very much, very, very 
much, but I don’t love you — and — 

“ And you do love somebody else ? ” he asked 
in a pained voice. 

“ I did not say so,” she faltered. 

“ Not in words,” Lester Brookes said, bitterly. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

For a long time Dorothy Maitland sat in the 
conservatory after Lester Brookes had left her, 
thinking and thinking of what had just hap- 
pened. He had been hurt, that she could not 
help seeing, and, of course, it was natural enough 
that it should be so. But he liad been perfectly 
friendly and manly over his disappointment, and 
as she watched him go through the glass door 
which led by a little passage into the hall. 
Dorothy felt that she liked him better at that 
moment than she had ever liked any man in all 
her life, and a great pang of regret shot through 
her heart that she had sent him away. 


SOPHY CARMIHE. 


127 


And yet — she did not rise up from her seat (as 
she would have done if the wish had been a very 
real one) and go after him to tell him frankly 
and truly that she had not given him a fair 
answer. No, she sat still and did nothing more 
than think, and, unfortunately for poor Lester 
Brookes, thinking did not do much to prosper his 
suit, for, somehow or other — how do these things 
ever come about? — in pondering over Lester 
Brookes, there rose up in her mind’s eye a pair 
of gray, gray Irish eyes and a face bronzed with 
the suns of twenty Indian summers, and in that 
dream she, for the time, forgot Lester Brookes as 
if he had never been. 

As for Brookes himself, he went off at a swing- 
ing pace across the park and did not turn up 
until the dusk had fallen, and I am bound to 
say that when he found himself back at the 
Court again, he was more thoroughly and entire- 
ly in love with Dorothy Maitland than ever ; in- 
deed the very fact that she had refused to marry 
him only served to make her more desirable in 
his eyes. He had been a good deal sought after, 
in a matrimonial sense, and, of course, he could 
not help knowing that he was what is called a 
“ good matcli,” so that the mere fact that this 
girl had refused him because she did not really 
love, but made him the more anxious to win her. 

But, although he did not mean to give up the 
idea of having her one day for his wife, he had no 


128 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


idea either of boring her by persistent entreaties 
or of standing aloof from, as if he were dejectedly 
meditating what evil he could do her; so when he 
went into the hall, where he found them all mak- 
ing merry over tea, with the exception of his host 
and Major Lucy, who were hunting and had not 
yet come in, he sat down in an empty chair by 
Dorothy Maitland with precisely the same man- 
ner and remark that he would have done on the 
previous day when hope still had its abiding 
place within his bosom. 

For twenty minutes or so not a soul saw that 
anything unusual was afloat, then Brookes him- 
self seized the opportunity, when Dorothy went 
to the piano and began playing a dreamy gavotte, 
such as made Colonel Kerr feel as if he must go 
mad if he stopped any longer at the Court, of 
going over to Mrs. Ferrers and breaking to her 
the fact of his early departure. 

“Mrs. Ferrers,” he said, “I am afraid I shall 
have to leave you on the day after to-morrow.” 

“ The day after to-morrow !” she echoed in dis- 
may, “ Oh ! Captain Brookes, you really cannot, 
it is impossible ! You have faithfully promised 
to go to Mrs. Bonner’s dance at Farlington. 
She will be so disappointed if you don’t go — and 
— and — so shall I.” 

“ It’s awfully good of you, Mrs. Ferrers,” he 
said, “but indeed I cannot stop for it. I’ve in- 
flicted myself on you for a cruelly long time al- 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


129 


ready, and — and — I’m sure you must be tired of 
me. And, in fact, I must go on Saturday.” 

“ I am not in the least tired of you, and if 
you go I shall be very angry with you,” she ex- 
claimed, when suddenly she stopped short, for 
Sophy Carmine, who happened to be sitting on 
the same settee, gave her gown an unmistakable 
tug which indicated clearly enough that she was 
wasting time, in trying to persuade him to pro- 
long his visit. “ But, of course, if you must go, 
Captain Brookes, she went on, when she had 
fully grasped the situation, “ why, I can only say 
that we shall all — all of us — be very sorry to lose 
you.” 

“I am sure that some of you will, Mrs. Fer- 
rers,” Lester Brookes answered. “ You have al- 
ways been so kind and hospitable to me that I 
look forward to a visit here like a school-boy 
looks forward to going home for the holidays. 
But all holidays come to an end in time, you 
know — and — and perhaps you will let me come 
back again for a day or two before my leave is up.” 

“ Oh ! to be sure — we shall be delighted — 
any time that you like — you need only to let me 
have a telegram in the morning, ” she cried 
eagerly, and then, with renewed expressions of 
gratitude, Lester Brookes allowed himself to be 
carried off to the piano by the children, who de- 
manded a certain comic song which he was occa- 
sionally persuaded to sing to them. 


130 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ Sophy, why did you pull my gown ? ” Mrs. 
Ferrers asked, as Captain Brookes went across 
the hall. 

“ Because it’s no use your pressing him to 
stop,” Sophy answered ; “ she refused him this 
afternoon.” 

“ You don’t mean it ! When ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, 1 do. It was just after luncheon.” 

“ But how do you know ?” Mrs. Ferrers cried. 

“Well because I — we — that is, Ed'jyard and I 
were going to the conservatory to look around a 
little, you know — we did not know they were 
there — and I opened the door from the garden 
just in time to hear her say, “ Please don’t say 
any more about it, I cannot give you any dif- 
ferent reply,” and then, of course, when I real- 
ized the situation, I pushed Edward back and 
shut the door very softly.” 

“ So they never saw you ? ” 

“ No, nor I them. I only heard Miss Mait- 
land say that,” Sophy replied. 

“Then you don’t know that it v’as Captain 
Brookes at all ! Perhaps — oh, perhaps it was 
Colonel Kerr. Don’t you think it is very like- 
ly? He has not gone near her this afternoon. 
He has been talking to Mignon ever since he 
came in ; in fact, I believe he has been for a walk 
with Mignon this afternoon. How long was it 
ago ? ” 

“ Just after luncheon.” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


131 


“ Ah ! yes, you said so. Then I feel sure it 
was Colonel Kerr.” 

But as the evening went by and Lester 
Brookes still adhered to his first declaration that 
he must end his visit on the day after the mor- 
row, while Colonel Kerr more than once spoke 
of “ next week ” and said he had no intention of 
leaving the Court at present, Mrs. Ferrers re- 
luctantly came to the conclusion that Sophy 
Carmine had been right. Therefore, that even- 
ing when Dorothy Maitland went off to bed, 
Mrs. Ferrers quietly followed her into her bed- 
room and said — “I want to ask jmu something, 
my dear.” 

“ Certainly, ” said Dorothy. “ Is it something 
you want me to do to-morrow ? ” 

“ Not exactly. No, but I want to ask you a 
question.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Dorothy, waiting to hear what it 
was. 

“ Do you know why Captain Brookes has 
ended his visit so suddenly, my dear ? ” 

Dorothy’s eyes fell and a vivid scarlet color 
flamed out on her cheeks instantly. Mrs. Fer- 
rers went on speaking. 

“I don’t want to pry into your concerns, 
Dorothy, ” she said. “ But I — I have a very 
warm feeling for you, and the circumstances of 
your life are in many respects so like the cir- 
cumstances of what my life was the first time I 


132 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


ever came to this house that I felt I must speak 
to you about it.” 

“ My life like yours — oh ! Mrs. Ferrers ! ” the 
girl cried. 

“My dear, I came here and Captain Ferrers 
asked me to marry him and — and I had to say no. 
I could not help myself. And that night the lady 
who had brought me here came to my room — 
this very room — and asked me if it was true he 
had proposed to me and I had refused him. 
Well, it was true and there was nothing more to 
say. I would have given worlds to have said 
yes, but I had to say no. I could not help my- 
self. My story came straight after all, and now 
I want you to confide in me and tell me if it is 
true that you said no to Captain Brookes, and if 
there is nothing I can do to help to make every- 
thing straight between you ? ” 

“ Dear Mrs. Ferrers,” said Dorothy, sinking 
down upon her knees beside the mistress of the 
Court, “ believe me, I have nothing to confide. 
You are always so kind to me, and ever since I 
have been here you have all been so kind to me 
that if I had a trouble or a difficulty, I should 
come to you at once and ask you to help me. 
But in this case, I meant to say nothing because 
there is nothing to be said — I have said every- 
thing there is to say.” 

“ And you have refused him ? ” 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


133 


“Well I — I am afraid I did,” Dorothy ad- 
mitted. 

“ But why — why ? My dear, he is so hand- 
some and such a good fellow in every way. 
Young, rich, popular — there is everything in his 
favor.” 

“ Yes — but I don’t want to marry him, Mrs. 
Ferrers.” 

“ But why ? You like him ? ” 

“ Oh ! very much — but I don’t love him. I 
don’t, really.” 

“ He is what any girl might be proud to love, 
Dorothy,” Mrs. Ferrers cried. 

“ You have made me too happy here to make 
me eager to go away, Mi-s. Ferrers,” Dorothy 
declared. 

“Yes, yes; but think, my dear, don’t throw 
away such a brilliant chance of happiness as this 
without thinking it out carefull}'.” 

“ I have thought it out. I have been thinking 
about him all day. I don’t love him, Mrs. Fer- 
rers, and I should never love him. You have 
urged that he is rich, and 3''oung, and handsome, 
and popular — well, they are all very good quali- 
ties, but if there is not love to put with them — ” 

“ I can urge something better. He loves 
you,” Mrs. Ferrers cried. 

Dorothy shook her head. “ I don’t think so. 
Not as I think of love. By this time next year, 
he will have forgotten me, he will have forgotten 


SOPlir CARMINE. 


134 

what color my eyes are and whether I was called 
Dorothy or Winifred.” 

Mrs. Ferrers got up with a sigh. “ I am very 
much disappointed about it, she said, vexedly. 
“ I had quite set my heart on the marriage, for, 
of course, I saw from the beginning what he felt 
about it, poor fellow.” 

Dorothy tried to edge a little closer. “ Dear 
Mrs. Ferrers, I am so sorry to disappoint you, 
but if I went and married a man I knew I did 
not love, I should only be miserable and you 
would be miserable, too, to think that you had 
helped it on. I should be miserable — I should 
deserve nothing else. I should deserve to be 
unhappy,” she ended with dignity. 

Mrs. Ferrers bent and kissed her. “ I dare 
say you are right, my dear,” she said, resignedly ; 
“so I won’t say another word to you about it. 
I think I have a different sort of nature to yours, 
for I am quite sure if I were in your place, I 
should be only too delighted to marry such a 
charming fellow. However, I won’t say any 
more about it.” 

And then she went off to her own room where 
she sent her maid away at once and sat down 
with tears in her eyes to tell Booties all her 
troubles, and how actually a silly and perverse 
girl had ruined all her plans because of some 
high-faluting notion about love. 

“ No, don’t say anything against love, my 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


135 


dearest,” laughed Booties, who was dead beat 
after a hard day’s run and wanted to go to bed. 
“You ought to praise the poor child for her 
frankness and her truth. It must have been a 
temptation to her not to refuse such a handsome 
chap as Brookes, with positively everything in 
the world to recommend him. I think she is to 
be honored for being so honest.” 

“But why I am so vexed is that she isn’t in 
love with him, Algy. She ought to be in love 
with him. Now Sophy Carmine fell in love 
with the General at once, and then everything 
was quite smooth and pleasant for everybody. 
It isn’t as if she was a rich society girl with 
everything happy and comfortable at home, and 
nothing to do but to pick and choose — it is quite 
different to that. Why, she might live with us 
for ten years and never get such a chance again. 
Algy, you’re asleep,” she ended reproachfully. 

Booties burst out laughing. “ Well, my 
dearest, I believe I was — the fact is, I’m dead 
tired. Never mind the love affaire, darling-, 
don’t worry about it and it’ll all come straight.” 

“ That is what you always say, Algy,” Mrs 
Ferrers exclaimed. 

“ Yes, and that is what things always do,” he 
laughed. 


136 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


CHAPTER XV. 

PEACE ! 

Well, on the day after the morrow Captain 
Brookes said good-bye to the people at Ferrers 
Court and took the afternoon train to London, 
quite convinced that nobody knew anything 
about his proposal to Dorothy Maitland and that 
he had behaved during those two trying days in 
such a manner as could arouse no suspicions. So 
he had, but of course, Sophy Carmine and Mrs. 
Ferrers had found it out at once ; and with the 
best intentions in the whole world of being all 
that was kind and tender to the girl, Mrs. Ferrers 
continued to make Dorothy feel herself thoroughly 
in disgrace. 

Twenty times a day did she bewail Lester 
Brookes’s absence, and with each mention of his 
name Dorothy would cast such a look of suppli- 
cation at her — of which Mrs. Ferrers was always 
supremely unconscious — and sigh in such a 
piteous way that two of the onlookers drew an 
utterly mistaken conclusion from her looks and 
her sighs ; for Sophy Carmine began to think that 
Miss Dorothy was bitterly regretting that Lester 
Brookes had taken her at her word, and Colonel 


SOPHY CARMINE. 137 

Kerr believed that she was breaking her heart 
for him. 

And in his case, as was natural with a man who 
had given more than one woman cause for suffer- 
ing, he was simply boiling over with passion and 
a fury of indignation to think that Brookes 
should, as he thought, have loved and ridden 
away, careless of the breaking heart which he was 
leaving behind. 

Thus matters went on till the day of Mrs. Bon- 
ner’s ball at Farlington, when, at luncheon, Mrs. 
Ferrers in counting up heads for the drive, hap- 
pened to say, vexedly, “ And Captain Brookes 
promised Mrs. Bonner, without fail, that he would 
go — he promised most faithfully. Really,” with 
a sigh, “ I don’t know what I shall say to her to 
account for his non-appearance.” 

Dorothy cast one of her looks at Mrs. Ferrers, 
then let her eyes fall, and sighed so piteously that 
Kerr, who was next to her, nearly boiled over in 
his disgust. 

“ Oh ! it’s nothing to do with you, mother,” 
said Mignon, who thought that Dorothy was per- 
fectly right to refuse a man if she did not care 
for him. “ You have only to say that he has 
gone away.” 

“ But he promised so faithfully to go,” cried 
Mrs. Ferrers. 

“ Then he ought to have kept his promise,” 
retorted Mignon. “ I have got no patience with 


138 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


men who faithfully promise things and then care- 
fully don’t keep their promises.” 

“ But Captain Brookes would have kept it, 
if — ’’and then Mrs. Ferrers, stopped short with a 
guilty feeling that she had let herself be betrayed 
into saying more than she had any right to say, 
and, what to her was a more heinous crime, more 
than was very kind to Dorothy. 

“ Well, it is no use saying any more about him ; 
perhaps you are right, Mignon,” she found pres- 
ence of mind to say. “Then there will be eight 
of us to-night. I suppose then that the omnibus 
will do.” 

“ Oh ! quite well, I should think,” said Mignon, 
carelessly. 

Well, as soon as she could escape from the 
table, Dorothy Maitland got out of the room 
and with the tears very near to her eyes made 
for the stairs. However, just as she reached 
the foot of them, she heard steps on the 
landing, and being in no mind to be caught act- 
ually crying, she hastily turned into the little 
passage which led to the large conservatory, and 
finding that she was not followed there, sat down 
upon the very chair, or rather the rustic seat, 
where she had sat with Lester Brookes a few 
days before, and covering her face with her hand, 
burst into violent weeping. Then, to make mat- 
ters worse, while she was still unable to control 
her sobs, the door opened and Colonel Kerr 
walked in. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


139 


As soon as she realized who had come in, 
Dorothy sprang to her feet with a wild idea of 
rushing away ; but to get into the house from 
where she stood, she would be obliged to pass 
close by Colonel Kerr, who was looking mourn- 
fully at her with all his own sorrowful past in 
his gray eyes. So finding that i^iode of retreat 
cut off, she turned back and sank down upon the 
seat again struggling hard to control her sobs and 
tears. 

“ Miss Maitland, I’m so sorry I came in here — 
but I’ll go at once,” he said, gently. 

“No, you need not go,” answered Dorothy, 
still keeping her head turned away. “ I shall — 
be all right — in a minute,” and then she reso- 
lutely dried her eyes and tried to force her lips to 
be steady. “ It’s awfully stupid of me,” she 
found breath to say after a minute or so ; “ but 
I’ve a headache — and — and — it’s headachy sort 
of weather, don’t you know.” 

Now as the snow was at that moment lying 
some four inches on the ground, Kerr really did 
not know ; however, he sat down beside her with 
quite the old tender manner that had been so 
thoroughly his twenty years before and told her 
that he quite understood. 

“ I don’t think you understand at all,” said 
Dorothy bluntly, feeling sure that he believed 
that she was crying for Lester Brookes. 

“ I have a far better reason for knowing than 


140 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


you think,” he said, the shadow deepening in his 
eyes. “ For twenty years ago I went through 
the self-same stoiy myself.” 

“You?” cried Dorothy, forgetting all about 
Lester Brookes in her anxiety and curiosity to 
know the meaning of the shadow in his gray eyes. 

“ Yes, I. Shall I tell you about it ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” she answered. 

So Kerr told her his story, told it for the first 
time in his life ; spoke of it for the first time for 
twenty years. 

“ It is just one and twenty years ago that I 
spent my long leave in Cornwall. I was quite 
a youngster then. And I met a young girl, a 
lady, whom I fell in love with, and when I went 
back to my regiment, I was engaged to be mar- 
ried to her. Her mother was a widow, and 
lived in town during the season. And in April 
I had a week’s leave ; I spent it chiefly with her. 
We were to be married in September, and I was 
in the Scarlet Lancers then and quartered at a 
wretched little place called Ballingtown, a sort 
of watering-place where nobody ever seemed to 
go and you never saw a visitor above the tea-and- 
shrimps class. Well, all at once, a lady took a 
house for the season, a woman who seemed to 
have heaps of money and any quantity of ser- 
vants and horses and all that kind of thing, and 
I — I was immensely struck by her beauty and 
her grand air, and — and with everything about 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


141 


her — and — and you can guess the rest ? ” he said 
in a pained voice. 

“ No, I cannot. I have not the least idea of 
what is coming,” answered Dorothy, breathlessly. 

“Well, I fancied myself more in love with her 
than I was with my own dear little girl up in 
London. And — and under a plea to myself of 
being honest and fair and above board with her, 
I got a couple of days’ leave and went and told 
her the truth, and asked her to give me back 
my promise.” 

“ Which she did, of course,” broke in Dorothy. 

“Which she did,” he answered ; “and then I 
went back to my regiment and waited for my 
chance of winning the widow. I was wretched 
all the time. I couldn’t get my little girl out of 
my head, but the beautiful widow had dazzled me, 
and, like the infatuated young fool that I was, I 
went madly on. Old Booties had been my best 
friend up to that time, but he kept himself aloof 
from me, and as far as our familiar intercourse 
went, he cut me. Not officially, of course, and 
outwardly I daresay you wouldn’t have known 
the difference ; but he dropped off one little inti- 
macy after another, gave up calling me ‘ Charlie,’ 
and called me ‘ Kerr ’ instead — would ask me 
politely to sit down if I went into his rooms, and 
cut me to the very heart in a thousand ways. 
But still I kept on, madly on, and at last I asked 
the beautiful widow to marry me.” 


142 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


“ And she was married already. She turned 
out to be a worthless adventuress?” cried 
Dorothy, excitedly. 

“Nothing of the sort,” said Kerr. “She 
turned out to be my little girl’s half-sister, wlio 
had taken a house at Ballingtown just to give her 
the pleasure of seeing my surprise at her appear- 
ance. The widow in fact had been kept as a 
surprise too ; and, as you may imagine, the shock 
brought me all at once to my senses and made 
me realize what an awful thing it was that I 
had done.” 

“ And what did you do then ? Why didn’t you 
go back and tell the girl everything? She 
would have forgiven you,” Dorothy said. 

“ I daresay — oh, I am sure that she would 
have done so, for she was sweetness and good- 
ness and tenderness itself,” he said, “ but it was 
too late then ; for, though I did not know it 
until after, she was lying dead at the very 
moment that I was asking her sister to marry 
me. So you see, Miss Dorothy, what a social leper 
and outcast I am, not fit to — to tie your shoes. 
I went out to India — to try to do what was im- 
possible — to try to forget, and there I stayed, 
and there I would have died, only they insisted 
on my coming home when I got that last attack 
of fever, and I got an idea that it was cowardly 
to shirk facing it.” 

Dorothy sat with head a little bent, very 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


143 


busily occupied in trying to poke her fingers be- 
tween the spaces left by the cross wires of the 
seat. “ But you are not sorry you came back 
now, are you?” she asked. 

“Not now. I feel more at peace than I have 
been for twenty years,” he answered; “and, of 
course. Booties has always been my best friend — 
so that the mere fact of coming back after all 
that time and finding him just what he was be- 
fore anything had come between us, was worth 
coming home for alone.” 

There was silence between them for a few 
minutes, and then Dorothy, in a piteous little 
strangled voice asked a question. 

“ Did you — that is, was you very fond of her ? 
The girl who died, I mean ? ” 

For an instant he scarce knew how to answer. 
“ Well, to be perfectly frank with you. Miss 
Dorothy,” he said, “ I don’t think that I was7 
I was at first, of course. She was so pretty, and 
so sweet, and so good, and I know she liked me. 
But I was only a youngster at the time, or what 
seems like a youngster to me now, and I don’t 
think I was in love with her at all.” 

“And her sister?” still keeping her head 
turned away. 

“ Oh, that was the merest infatuation, the 
maddest, wildest passion possible ; the sort 
of lunacy that sends young men, who for the 
time have no sense or reason, to their ruin. 


144 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


But from the hour that I realized that I had 
killed my poor little girl — ” 

“ Oh, no, no, don’t say that,” she cried, in a 
voice of agony. 

“ I am afraid I must say so. It is what I al- 
ways think,” he answered, sadly. “ It is the 
crime for which my whole life must pay the 
penance.” 

“The penance?” questioningly. 

“ The penance of loneliness. For twenty 
years I have lived the life of a hermit, shut out 
from all that makes life most sweet to a man. I 
have been happy, comparatively, since I came 
here, because I have for the time lived the life 
that I would live by choice, if I could, for al- 
ways. During the last 'few weeks I have seen 
more of women’s gracious ways and of the chil- 
dren’s tender innocence than I have seen in all the 
twenty years that I have been in India ; and there 
have been moments when I have forgotten that, 
so far as I am concerned, they can never be any- 
thing to me except a vision ; when I have for- 
gotten that I am nothing more than a social 
leper in the grip of a moral penal servitude for 
life.” 

For full five minutes neither of them said one 
word. Dorothy Maitland was struggling hard 
with her own beating heart, and to keep the 
tears from flooding into her eyes, and as for him 
he was only conscious of one awful feeling that he 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


145 


had lived for four and forty years and that this 
was the only woman he had ever loved. This 
soft-eyed, soft-voiced girl, who, like himself, was 
alone in the world, who was so close to him that 
he could at any moment put out his hand and 
take hers — which he did — and yet between him 
and her there la}'^ the impassable barrier of a quiet 
grave away down in Cornwall, where the breakers 
dashing against the rocks beat an unceasing dirge 
to the memory of that tender rose — the Rosey 
of his youth — cut off in the morning of her life. 
He had forgotten utterly why he liad told her 
his story ; he had forgotten that he had had some 
unselfish, chivalrous idea of bringing her and 
Brookes together again and going back to his 
exile, happy in the belief that he had done some 
good in his life at last. Yes, he had forgotten 
all this ; at that moment he thought of nothing 
except that he had sworn himself forever to the 
memory of Rosa Wendell, and that he was only 
forty-four ! only forty-four ! and he might go 
on living for forty years. 

All at once he came to the consciousness that 
he was holding her hand in his ; then gently and 
with reverence as he might have done to a saint, 
he kissed it softly and let it go. There was a 
moment’s silence and then Dorothy Maitland got 
up very quietly and went aiyay. 

And there he sat like a man in a dream with 
two dreadful words ringing in his ears — all 


146 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


over ! all over ! all over ! They had been sweet 
and precious to him these few short weeks, and 
he had lived years, nay, a whole lifetime of hap- 
piness in his own thoughts whilst he had been 
at the Court ; but it was all over now and he 
must go back into the darkness of loneliness 
again to suffer a thousand times more than he 
had ever known what it was to suffer in all his 
life before. 

W ell, it was no use sitting there thinking ; he 
would have time to think, aye, time and to spare 
in the dreary years which were to come. He 
roused himself with a shake and walked off to 
the den where he guessed Booties would be at 
that moment. 

“ Booties, old fellow, are you here,” he asked, 
with a knock at the door. 

“ Is that you, Charley ? Come in — what is it? ” 
answered Booties cheerily. “Take that chair, 
old man, it’s the best in the room for comfort.” 

“ No, I haven’t come to talk, old man,” Kerr 
said, bluntly, for he knew if he meant to go it 
was best to get it out at once. “ I wanted to 
tell you — I’ve had a good time at the Court. I’ve 
lived every minute of it, but I can’t stop. I must 
get away.” 

Booties got up from his chair in astonishment. 

“What is it, Charley?” he asked, kindly. 

Kerr fairly groaned, and hid his face upon his 
arm against the chimney-shelf. 


SOPHr CARMINE. 


147 


“ Its not the little girl, Dorothy'? ” Booties cried 
incredulously. “Why you don’t mean that she 
has refused you?” 

Kerr lifted his head and looked at his friend 
with haggard eyes. “ You don’t suppose I have 
asked her, do you ? ” he asked, almost fiercely. 

“ But why not ? ” said Booties, mildly. 

“ Why not ! Good Heaven ! do you think I 
have forgotten — that I ever forget — ” 

“ My dear old man,” Booties broke in, with his 
kindest voice. “You are thinking of the past 
still, and poor little Rosey, poor, poor tender 
child. You never meant to marry, never to let 
your thoughts stray to any other woman but to 
live out your life as a sort of penance for what 
can never be changed now. Yes, I know, but 
Charley, old man, it seems to me twenty years 
is a long penance. It won’t do, you know, to 
punish another girl for the sake of the first. If 
you break this girl’s heart — and I’m afraid she 
likes you, old fellow, you know you were always 
first with the women — and I feel pretty s^ire it 
was for you that she said ‘no ’ to Lester Brookes. 
What! you didn’t know that?” as Kerr gave a 
start of surprise. “ Ah, but it is so. So you 
see if you break this girl’s heart it will do poor, 
dear, little Rosey no good. Don’t say you’ll go 
now. Sit here by yourself and think it out. 
Think it out with a pipe, old man, and I’ll come 
back to you in an hour or so,” and then, with 


148 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


what was almost an embrace, a sort of rough 
hug, the master of Ferrers Court went quietly 
out and shut the door behind him. 

His first thought when he got outside was to 
go and find his wife — then he remembered that 
Mrs. Ferrers and Mignon had driven away in the 
carriage half an hour before. And whilst he 
was in the strait of wondering whom he’d get to 
help him, he ran against the General, who was 
in search of Sophy. 

“ Do you know where Miss Sophy is, General ? ” 
he asked. 

“No, I don’t,” the General answered, “I’m 
looking about for her myself. Here’s Pearl, she 
is sure to know. Pearl, my child, where is 
Sophy?” 

“Sophy is in mother’s boudoir, with Miss 
Maitland,” answered Pearl. “There is some- 
thing the matter ; Miss Maitland is crying her 
eyes out.” 

“ Then go and whisper to Sophy that I want 
her particularly,” said Booties, “ and come away 
yourself, sweetheart. When people are crying 
they like to be left alone.” 

Thus bidden. Pearl quickly disappeared and 
in five minutes came back with Sophy, who was 
looking anxious and distressed. Booties drew 
her on one side and whispered a few words in 
her ear, and then carried off the General and 
Pearl to the stables. 


SOPHY CARMINE. 


149 


Sophy, on the contrary, went straight toward 
the little study which Captain Ferrei’S called his 
“den.” And a quarter of an hour later, Maud 
came running out into the stables, crying: 
“ Father, father, where are you?” 

“ Here,” he answered, “ what is it ? ” 

“ Something has happened,” Maud explained, 
“ for I left my book in mother’s boudoir, this 
morning, and just now I was going to fetch it 
when Sophy jumped out of the gallery-window 
and stopped me. ‘You can’t go in there, dar- 
ling,’ she said, ‘ but I want you to do something 
for me. Go and find Captain Ferrers, he is 
somewhere about the stables, and tell him just 
this: ‘It’s all right.’ What is all right, father?” 
Maud asked. 

“ Something I asked her to do forme,” Captain 
Ferrers answered — then turned round to the 
General and clapped him on the shoulder. 
“ General,” he said, “ you’ll have a wife in a 
thousand. I wonder how she managed it? ” 
Well, Sophy had managed it in this way. She 
had simply, as she herself put it^ talked to Colo- 
nel Kerr like a mother, and finally she had 
insisted upon his going upstairs with her to see 
Dorothy. And when they reached the door of 
the boudoir, she stepped aside and imperatively 
motioned him to go in and then gently closed it 
behind him, and herself retired to the window of 
the gallery, where she sat in the cold for quite 


150 


SOPHY CABMINE. 


half an hour, keeping watch that nobody should 
go in and disturb them. 'And Kerr, when he 
found himself in the pretty little room, looked 
round the screen which formed a cosy corner by 
the fire, and there saw Dorothy Maitland de- 
jectedly lying back on a settee, her face very 
pale from lier long fit of weeping, and her eyes 
looking bigger and darker than ever. As she 
saw him she sprang up, and in a moment Kerr 
had caught her in his arms. 

“ Dorothy, my love, darling,” he burst out, “ I 
did not dare to say a word more to you just now. 
I thought it was Brookes that — ” 

“ Brookes ! ” she cried indignantly. 

“ But Booties told me — told me that you had 
sent him away and that — Dorothy, haven’t you 
got anything to say to me ? ” 

Dorothy shook her head, but a shake of the 
head sometimes gives a great deal of encourage- 
ment to a man, and, feeling himself encouraged, 
he drew her still nearer. 

“ Do you know that I am forty-four ? ” he 
asked, scarcely daring even then to believe in 
his good fortune, and putting the only disad- 
vantage he could think of on liis side plainly 
before her. 

“ I should not care,” said Dorothy, “ if you 
were a hundred and forty-four, because I — I — ” 
“ Because you — ^you — ” he asked, “ you — • 
what?” 


SOPHY CARMINK 


151 


“ Because I love you,” she whispered, “but,” 
after a moment, “ I don’t believe you would 
ever have come to me if Sophy Carmine had not 
gone down and fetched you.” 

“ I think I should,” he answered, confidently. 

So there they sat in Mrs. Feri-ers’ cosy corner 
all unknowing of how long Sophy kept guard in 
the cold without, and slowly the afternoon waned 
and a blessed peace stole into Charley Kerr’s 
soul, for the long twenty years of his penance 
had come to an end at last. 


THE END. 


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OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


CHAPTER L 

“ T HERE will be no half-holiday this after- 
noon.” 

It was Dr. Layiton of Olswick Grammar-school 
who spoke. His audience consisted of the ushers 
and pupils of that establishment. 

The announcement was not altogether unex- 
pected. In fact, two young gentlemen were 
already secretly congratulating themselves on 
liaving got off so easily. But their hopes were 
destined to be dashed to the ground — the doctor 
has not finished. How much does he know? 

“I said, young gentlemen,” he continued, 
“ that there would be no half-holiday ; but I speak 
with a reservation. If I can possibly avoid it, 
it is not my plan to punish the whole school for 
the fault of a few of its members. I call on those 
boys who robbed Mr. Hodge’s orchard yesterday 
to give me their names. Unless I am greatly 
mistaken, they will do so. Will those boys stand 
up ? ” 

Amidst a breathless silence, two lads stood up 
in their places. 

“ Is there no one else ? ” asked the doctor. 

Then every one looked at every one else ; the 


154 


OGILVIE WniTrLECHURCIL 


big boys began to look very fierce, and the small 
ones to look very red. 

“ I have reason to know that there is another 
boy who ought to be standing np. 1 will give 
him a minute to do so.” The doctor took out 
his watch. What an age that sixty seconds 
seemed ! “ Ogilvie Whittlechurch, stand up.” 

The boy addressed was a slender delicate little 
fellow in the first form, but with an open and 
intelligent face, not at all the face of a sneak. 
Scarcely seeming to take in what was happening, 
he obeyed; and then, seeing the gaze of the 
whole school concentrated on himself, burst into 
tears. 

“ I am sorry,” said the doctor sternly, “ very 
sorry to find that there is a boy in my school 
who can descend to a lie — to find a boy who is 
mean enough to see his companions punished while 
he himself goes free. The school may dismiss 
now, and leave their books out. There will be 
no half-holiday ; we will resume work at three 
o’clock. — Parkins, Rimington, and Whittle- 
church, go to my study.” 

Fifty boys do not allow themselves to be robbed 
of an afternoon's cricket without some retalia- 
tion ; and many were the threats indulged in of 
“bedroom lickings ” and “ monitor thrashings” 
to be afterwards administered to the unhappy 
Whittlechurch. Besides, to do them justice, 
English school-boys have a strong sense of honor ; 
and if a master will but show by his conduct that 
he appreciates ‘and trusts in this sense, public 
opinion is always against a boy who takes advan- 
tage of him. 

There had been a paper-chase the day before, 
and the hares on their return journey had passed 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


155 


Hodge’s orchard with the hounds close on their 
heels. Of course, at this, the most exciting part 
of the whole chase, none of the bigger boys, nor 
the good runners among the smaller ones, would 
have turned aside for all the orchards in the 
county. But the three unfortunates who were 
interviewing the doctor were known to have 
straggled early in the day, and notliing was more 
likely than that they had yielded to the tempta- 
tion of lightening some of the overladen apple 
trees of their golden burden, more especially as 
Farmer Hodge was the avowed enemy of the 
school, and was said to have sworn to make the 
next boy he caught acquainted with his cart- 
whip. But how the doctor had “ bowled out ” 
Whittlechurch, no one could imagine. 

Pi esently, the school-bell rang, and all trooped 
in again and took their places as before. Parkins 
and Rimington were already in theirs, looking 
very sore and uncomfortable ; but Whittlechurch 
was not in the room. When every one was 
seated, the doctor tapped his desk for silence, 
and proceeded to address the school : “ Whittle- 
church is expelled. He persisted in denying his 
guilt ; and as I have often told you that I will 
not be responsible for the charge of a liar, I had 
no course but to send him back to his father. 
That he was guilty, there can be no doubt. 
When Mr. Hodge’s complahit reached me yester- 
day afternoon, I walked over to his farm. We 
went into the orchard, and there I saw his full 
name, Ogilvie Whittlechurch, cut on an apple 
tree. The work was quite recent ; it could not 
have been done more than a couple of hours at 
most ; and in the face of this evidence he still 
refused to admit that he had been in the orchard. 


156 


OGILVIE WHITTLECIIURCH. 


— Let this be a warning to you, young gentle- 
men. Never be tempted to tell a lie. If you 
do, you will most assuredly be obliged to tell a 
score more to substantiate it. But were you to 
tell a thousand, the end will be always the same 
— detection.” 

While the fifty or so young gentlemen at the 
Olswick Grammar-school were poi ing over their 
books in the worst of tempers, aiib looking wist- 
fully out of the windows at the cricket pitch, 
whicli now appeared doubly green and smooth — 
while, in short, these youthful aristocrats were 
extremely miserable, some twenty little paupers, 
inmates of the Olswick Union, were in the very 
wildest of high spirits. “ The board ” had just 
concluded its annual inspection, also its annual 
luncheon, and its annual cigars — the last two 
forming, by the way, a very considerable item 
in the annual bill chargeable to the ratepayers — 
and everything having gone smoothly, the chair- 
man had requested the master of the workhouse 
to allow the old paupers a ration of tobacco and 
to give the children a half-holiday. 

“ Ooray ! ooray ! Chuck ’er up ! ” shouted 
one little ragamuffin. — “Go’s a-goin’ to play 
tipcat?” cried another. — “Where’s OggyWhit- 
tlechurch with them happles ? ” yelled a third. 

“ Sh-sh, yer softy ! D’yer want to get ’im 
nabbed ? Oggy’s took the happles over to the 
meadow. You come along a-me, and we’ll ’ave 
a blow-out.” So saying, the last two speakers 
separated from their companions, and running 
round behind the workhouse, cautiously crossed 
the garden. This brought them to a stone wall, 
over which they clambered. They were now in 
the meadow, and here, sure enough, sitting close 


OGIL VIE WHITTL ECU UR CH. 


157 


to the wall, they found another little fellow wait- 
ing for them. 

“ ’Ave you got ’em, Oggy ? ” ’Ave you got 
the happles ? ” they both asked at once in an 
eager whisper. 

“ ’Ave I got ’em ! ” replied the other con- 
temptuously. “ D’yer think I’ve left ’em be- 
hind ? ” And producing a piece of sacking tied 
up in a bundle, he proceeded to undo the knot, 
thus allowing to roll out a store of fine ripe red- 
cheeked apples. 

“ O blimy ! ain’t they prime ? ” 

“ ’Ere’s one for you. Bill ; ’ere’s one for Charlie 
Miller; and ’ere’s one for me. ’Ere’s two for 

you, ’ere’s two for Ch Douse it, and cut ! 

Can’t yer see the Squire coinin’ I My ! ain’t ’e 
runnin’ ! ” 

The two lads who had just come were over the 
wall again before he had finished speaking. But 
the one who had been distributing the apples 
stayed for a moment to tie up the bundle ; then, 
just as he was about to follow them, he suddenly 
saw the Squire trip up and fall heavily to the 
ground ; and at the same time realized what he 
had not noticed before, namely, that the gentle- 
man was not pursuing himself and his compan- 
ions, but was trying to escape from an infuriated 
bull, which now made its appearance through a 
gap at the other end of the field, rushing madly, 
head down, straight for where he lay. What 
impulse prompted him he never knew. Had he 
waited but a fraction of a second to think, he 
would most probably have followed his compan- 
ions. But he did not think. He ran as hard as 
he could go to where the gentleman was lying — 
the bull was now within six yards — picked up a 


158 


OGIL VIE WHITT LECH UR CH. 


stone, and threw it at the animal with all his 
force. It hit the latter between the eyes. The 
effect was instantaneous. The bull stopped 
short, tossed his head, half-turned round, and 
then catching sight of some blankets hung up to 
dry, which were fluttering in a cottage garden 
near by, made off in that direction at the top of 
his speed. 

Meanwhile, the Squire, who had twisted his 
ankle, had with some difficulty got up ; and lean- 
ing partly on the boy and partly on his stick, 
hobbled to the gate. “ What is your name, my • 
little man ? ” he asked. 

“ Ogilvie Whitttle church, sir.” 

“ Queer name that for a pauper,” he muttered. 
— “ Well, Ogilvie Whittlechurch, run back to 
the workhouse and tell the master that I want 
to speak to him. — Do you understand? Tell 
him that Colonel Forward wishes to speak to him.” 

“ Oh, p-p-lease, sir, we wasn’t doing no ’arm. 
Leastways, the other two wasn’t. You’ll only 
tell ’im of me, sir? Willyer?” 

“ What do you mean, my lad? I don’t under- 
stand.” 

“ Ain’t yer goin’ to tell ’im to whack us for 
cornin’ in the meadow? But you’ll only tell ’im 
of me ? Will yer, sir ? ” 

“ Oh, I see. — All right, my boy, I won’t say 
anything about the others. Now, off you run, 
and fetch the master. — By Heaven ! ” muttered 
the colonel as he stretched out his leg, which 
was rather painful, “ but I like that youngster 
extremely.” 

For a few moments he remained thinking; 
then, half-aloud, he muttered : “ Why shouldn’t 
I ? I’m an old bachelor, and likely to remain 


OGILVIE WIIirTLECIIURCH. 


159 


one. When I die there is no one to cany on my 
name. Yet I suppose that this is the kind of 
step that one ought to think over before taking. 
But then I don’t fancy that the boy thought 
much when he saved my life jus.t now. I wonder 
who he is. I don’t ever remember having heard 
the name before ; but it certainly does not sound 
a plebeian one. — However, hei-e comes the master, 
and I’ll find out. — Ah, Mr. Saunders, I want to 
ask you about that youngster, Ogilvie Whittle- 
church. Who is he, and what is he ? ” 

“Oh, the young scoundrel, sir; he told me 
that you caught him in your field ; but I’ll take 
good care that he doesn’t do it again. He’s the 
most mischievous boy in the ’ouse, sir. But he’s 
not altogether a bad lot — he always speaks the 
truth.” 

“ Humph ! Always speaks the truth, and 
thinks of his companions before himself, besides 
being as plucky a youngster as one could wish 
to see. Why, the boy must have been born a 
gentleman ! ” Colonel Forward was evidently a 
bigoted aristocrat. “ Never mind the trespass- 
ing, Mr. Saunders. I take an interest in the lad, 
and want to know who he is. How did he come 
to the workhouse ? ” 

“ We hfive never been able to find out who he 
is, sir. He was found one morning in the garden, 
wrapped up in a shawl. It was just after I came 
here ; I remember it perfectly. He couldn’t have 
been there very long, because the shawl was 
hardly damp, and the dew had been very heavy. 
But we never knew who put him there.” 

“How was he dressed? Were his clothes 
good?” 

“ Not very good, sir ; but quite clean. The 


160 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


matron has them now. But there was no mark 
on them, sir, nothing at all ; only “ Ogilvie 
Whittlechurch” written on a piece of paper and 
pinned on to his frock, as you might label a 
parcel.” 

“ And is that all you know about him?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Mr. Saunders ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ That boy has just saved my life at the risk 
of his own, and 1 intend to adopt him as my son. 
Inform the guardians, please, and let me know 
their answer.” 

“ Wh — wh — what 1 sir ? ” 

“ I say that I wish to adopt Ogilvie Whittle- 
church. Surely that is plain enough. Now, if 
you will kindly lend me your arm as far as my 
liouse — thanks.” 

Colonel Forward had acted, as we have seen, 
quite on the spur of the moment; and it was not 
until he came to think the matter over calmly, 
while smoking his after-dinner cigar, that he fully 
realized the magnitude of the step, and the great 
responsibility which he was about to incur. At 
best, it would be a hazardous experiment. How- 
ever, having undertaken it, he would spare no 
pains to make it a success. And he determined 
that it should be through no fault of his if Ogil- 
vie Forward — for so he intended to name him — 
turned out anything other than an honorable 
English gentleman, lie did not care much for 
the neighborhood, and had long meditated selling 
his present residence. Now, it was clearly his 
duty to do so at once, as it would never do to 
bring the boy up within a stone’s throw of his 
old companions. This point settled in his own 


OGILVIE WHITTLECIIURCH. IGl 

mintl, he sat down and wrote the necessary in- 
structions to his solicitors, smoked another cigar, 
and went to bed. 


Ten years have elapsed — years which have 
passed happily both for Colonel Forward and liis 
adopted son. At nine a boy’s ideas are un- 
formed ; his mind, is so to speak, pliable, and 
he is ready to take in new impressions. So that, 
when, after a few years passed with his kind pro- 
tector, Ogilvie was sent to Eton — if we except 
perhaps a sound healthy constitution and good 
physical development — not a trace remained of 
his early workhouse training. As for the colonel, 
he has learned to love him more and more each 
year, and now blesses the impulse which prompted 
him thus to secure himself the solace and happi- 
ness of a son’s society, and saved him in all prob- 
ability from that terrible affliction, a joyless old 
age. His worldly fortune, it is true, is now con- 
siderably less than it was. The reason — specu- 
lation, in which, like many otlrer retired officers 
of comfortable means who feel keenly the want 
of occupation, he had been tempted to engage. 
However, he still had enough to live on ; but, 
for his son’s sake, he regretted that it was not 
more. 

From Eton, Ogilvie passed into Woolwich, 
and from Woolwich he was gazetted lieutenant 
in the Royal Engineers. His detachment was 
stationed at Leith, where they were employed 
renewing the submarine defences of that port. 
When the main part of the work had been com- 
pleted, several of the officers, Ogilvie among the 
number, sent in their applications for leave, 


162 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


which were approved in due course. His plans 
were to devote a week to a short walking-tour 
in the neighborhood, which he had hardly as yet 
had time to see at all ; and then to spend the 
rest of his leave with his father. Accordingly, 
one fine June morning, stick in hand and knap- 
sack on back, he started on his travels. It was 
quite early, and, except for a few workmen, the 
streets were practically deserted. There were 
also a few sailors hanging about the dockyard 
gates. One of these latter, who had been sitting 
on a bundle against the wall, got up as he passed 
and followed him. Looking round a few min- 
utes afterwards, he noticed that the man was 
still behind him. “ I wonder if that man can be 
following me for any reason ?” he thought; and 
then smiling at the idea that he was getting as 
fidgety as an old maiden lady, he dismissed the 
subject from his thoughts. 

It was a delightful morning, bright and exhil- 
arating; and under the combined influences of the 
freshness of the weather and his own light heart, 
he stepped out briskly. When clear of the town, 
he stopped for a minute to readjust the straps 
of his knapsack, and, while doing so, had leisure 
to inspect the sailor, who was a few paces off. 
His appearance was certainly not in his favor. 
He was about middle height, solidly built, with 
a short thick neck, and bullet head surmounted 
by a fur cap. His face, which was adorned by 
a scrubby black beard and moustache, indicated 
both cunning and ferocity. His bundle and a 
pair of big sea-boots, as well as an indescribable 
something about his walk and carriage, showed 
him to be a sailor. But had it not been for these, 
one would have felt more inclined to put him 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


163 


down as a professional burglar than anything 
else. 

Wliat, then, was Ogilvie’s astonishment when, 
just as he was putting on his knapsack again, 
tlie individual we have described walked coolly 
up to him and thus accosted him : “ And so you’re 
Capting Forward.” 

To the best of his knowledge the man was an 
utter stranger ; and he was so taken aback with 
his impertinence, that for a second or two he 
continued to take stock of him before answering. 
“ Yes,” he replied, “ I am Mr. Forward.” 

“ And you don’t remember me ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ What I you don’t remember your old pal, 
Charlie Miller — and we used to be that fond of 
each other, too, we used. Now, try to think, 
Capting ; surely, you must remember Charlie.” 
Having said this in a mocking tone, the man 
remained looking at Ogilvie, his face formed into 
a half-sneer, half-grin, which had the effect of 
making him look absolutely hideous. 

Suddenly a light broke on Ogilvie , it all came 
back to his memory now, the old days atOlswick, 
and the little paupers, his companions. He did 
remember him. With an inward shudder, he 
had to acknowledge to himself that this person 
had once been his friend. Naturally kind- 
hearted, he would, under ordinary circumstances, 
have been only too glad to do a good tui-n to one 
of his old associates, notwithstanding that their 
present paths of life were, and necessarily must 
be, on levels so very different. But suddenly 
confronted with him like this, he felt towards 
him a repugnance which he could not overcome. 
He made, moreover, a shrewd guess that it was 


1G4 


OGILVIE mUTTLECllURCII. 


not alone for the pleasure of greeting an old ac- 
quaintance that Miller had tracked him down ; 
and events showed that he was right. 

“ Now that you remind me,’’ lie continued, 
“ I do remember you. You were one of my play- 
mates before Colonel Forward adopted me. How 
did you find out where I was ? — and what can I 
do for you ? ” 

“ Ah ! — now you’re beginning to speak. You 
were only talking before. — Never mind how I 
found you out — that don’t matter. As for what 
I want — well, what d’ yer think I want? Not 
money — Oh no ! ’Tisn’t likely. What I wants 
is L, and S, and D , but chiefly L, and that with 
a fifty after it ; that’s what I want.” • 

“ Fifty pounds ! ” said Ogilvie. “ I cannot 
give you as much as that — certainly not now. 
But why do you want it ? ” 

“ W ell, capting, you see, I was always very 
fond of yer , and hearing that the other young 
toffs down yonder at the barracks didn’t know 
as ’ow you’d ever been anything different from 
what you are — and you bein’ in course too modest 
to tell — I thought, d’ yer see, as I’d be doin’ you 
a good turn by letting ’em know the ’ole story. 
They’d respect you, so I thought — you ‘avin’ made 
your way so wonderful — it commands respect, 
that does. But this morning I thought — I was 
thinking of yer all this morning — afore you was 
up, I was thinking of yer — I thought this : Oggy 
weren’t never a boaster, and p’raps ’e’d rather I 
didn’t say nothing after all. So, when you come 
out of the barracks, capting, I says to myself : 
“Well, I’ll just ask ’im myself,’’ I says; “and 
if ’e tells me to clap a stopper on my jaw-tackle 
— well, p’raps ’e’ll come down ’aii’some.” ’ 


OGILVIE WIIirTLECHURCH. 165 

“ So ! ” thought Ogilvie, after listening to the 
above speech, which was delivered in a sarcastic 
tone, showing that the speaker imagined that he 
had him completely at his mercy, “ this is nothing 
more or less than a deliberate attempt to extort 
blackmail.” 

Now, although his brother-officers believed him 
to be Colonel Forward’s son, he was sufficiently 
popular in the mess not to mind the true facts of 
the case coming to light. At the same time, how- 
ever, he did not like the idea of this man appear- 
ing at the barracks in his absence with a sensa- 
tional story which would most likely be adorned 
with numerous embellishments of his own. Of 
course, no one in the mess would listen to him ; 
but that most probably would only have the 
effect of making him retail it in the canteen, 
which would be worse. Take it which way he 
would, it was a nuisance ; and unless he chose 
to return at once, and so spoil his walking-tour, 
which he had no intention of doing, it could not 
be helped. 

“Not only will I not give you fifty pounds,” 
he answered, “but I will not give you fifty 
shillings. What you propose to do can cause 
me nothing more than a little temporayr incon- 
venience ; so please consider yourself free to go 
and do it as soon as ever you please. If you 
have nothing more to say to me, I will go on 
with my walk.” 

The other’s face fell visibly. This was not at 
all what he had bargained for. “What! you 
don’t mind them young toffs knowing you was 
brought up in the Union along a-me ? ” Then 
suddenly changing his tone, he continued : “ But 
there ! you knew Charlie Miller wasn’t a-goin' 


166 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


to play a low-down game like that, didn’t j^er ? 
Why, bless yer, Oggy, I was only larkin’. And 
to think you been and seen through it — and me 
thinkin’ I was a-goin’ to give you such a fright 
too. But, cap ting, if you ’ave got a thick-un or 
two to spare. I’m dead-broke — I’m really — been 
bousing up my jib all last week, and ain’t got a 
dollar left. I want to get a ship at Glasgow, and 
by what I can see, I’ll ’ave to tramp it.” 

Many people would have been equally deaf to 
this second appeal ; but Ogilvie, although fully 
alive to its insincerity, could not help giving the 
fellow a sovereign. After all, but for a strange 
turn of the wheel of fortune he would very likely 
have been his friend to this very day, and been 
instrumental in keeping him straight. “ Look 
here. Miller,” he said. “ I have not forgotten that 
we were boys together ; but circumstances have 
altered our positions, and we can have nothing 
in common now. Here is a sovereign. I hope 
you will find a good ship at Glasgow ; and let 
me advise you for the future to stick to your 
business, and not run about the country trying 
to frighten people into giving you money. It 
doesn’t pay. — Now, good-bye.” And turning on 
his heel, Ogilvie walked off in the direction of 
Queensferry. 

For a few moments the other remained watch- 
ing him in silence ; but finding that he did not 
even look behind, he turned and commenced to 
retrace his steps towards Leith. “ Blarst ’m ! ” 
he muttered. “ I thought ’e ’d be worth a mint 
o’ money to me. But I won’t blow on ’im — 
’twouldn’t be no good. Besides, a secret’s a secret, 
and maybe it’ll be worth something yet.” 


OGILVIE WUITTLECHURCH. 


167 


CHAPTER 11. 

Ogilvie proposed to make his first halt at 
Queensferry, where, at the time of which we 
write, that immense and almost superhuman 
work of engineering, the Forth Bridge, was just 
being begun. He arrived there about noon. As 
yet the operations had not advanced beyond the 
merest preliminaries ; but these alone were on so 
vast a scale, that the imagination recoiled from 
the task of estimating the amount of time, labor, 
skill, and capital it would take to bring this 
gigantic undertaking to a successful termination. 
A huge iron caisson, destined to form the base 
of a column, had been completed, and was to be 
launched that afternoon, and he determined to 
wait and see the operation. 

No one in good health takes a long country 
walk without feeling hungry ; and Ogilvie, who 
had been indulging in sharp pedestrian exercise 
for about three hours in bracing air, was simply 
ravenous. His knapsack held a small store of 
cold provisions, but that was only for emergencies. 
At present, a little inn, near at hand, seemed to 
offer the prospect of a much more substantial 
lunch, and thither accordingly he repaired. 

In answer to his inquiries, the landlord in- 
formed him that the parlor was engaged, but 
whatever he pleased to order could be served 
him in the taproom. 

“No, no!” interposed a young man, who at 


168 


OGIL VIE WHITTLECn URGE. 


that moment emerged from behind a glass door 
leading to the parlor in question, and who had 
evidently overheard the conversation in the tap- 
room. “ There’s lots of room in there, Forward, 
and tliis place will be chokeful of workmen in a 
few minutes. Come in, and let me introduce you 
to my mother and sister.” The speaker was a 
young officer of the mercantile marine, named 
Rimington, whom Ogilvie had often met at 
Leith, where he had been staying to go through 
a course of drill, in his capacity of sub-lieutenant 
in the Royal Naval Reserve, on board the gun- 
boat stationed there. 

Gladly accepting his invitation, Ogilvie fol- 
lowed him into the parlor, where he was duly 
presented to tlie two ladies. The elder of these, 
Mrs. Rimington, was a widow. Her husband 
had been lost at sea not many years after they 
were married, and this, doubtless, had something 
to do with the subdued and rather sad look 
which her face so often wore. There was some- 
thing very kind and winning about the look, 
notwithstanding its sadness — something that had 
tlie effect of making one feel at home in her 
presence from the very first — that seemed to say 
to Ogilvie : ‘ You are my son’s friend, so of 
course you are mine also, and I hope that you 
will consider me yours.” 

Her daughter. Miss Rimington, was a deli- 
cately lovely girl of about eighteen summers, of 
a type of beauty rather Spanish than English. 
Neither in her manners nor conversation, how- 
ever, was there discernible the slightest trace of 
that languid deliberation, sometimes natural to, 
and sometimes affected by brunettes. On the 
contrary, she was in every respect like any other 


OGILVIE WHITTLECIlURCll. 169 

pretty, healthy English girl of her age. She 
seemed also to have inherited from her mother 
the gift of being able to put people at ease in her 
presence. 

“ I suppose,” said Mre. Rimington, “ that you 
are like us, Mr. Forward, very nearly leaving 
the neighborhood without having seen the Forth 
Bridge ? ” 

“Oh, well, mother,” put in her son, “you 
know they say that there’s many a Roman shop- 
keeper who lives and dies without seeing the 
Colosseum ; and then we have come at last.” 

“Are you on a walking tour?” asked Miss 
Rimington of Ogilvie, as he unstrapped his knap- 
sack. 

“ Only a very slipshod sort of a one, 1 am 
afraid. Miss Rimington,” he replied. “I shall 
never walk farther than I feel inclined ; and if at 
any time I want to avail myself of the coach, I 
most certainly shall do so.” 

“ I was thinking of going for a tramp myself,” 
said Rimington ; “ but I shan’t have time.” 

“ Isn’t it a shame, Mr. Forward ? ” said his sis- 
ter. “ George has only just finished drilling on 
board that horrid little gunboat, and to-morrow 
he will have to go to Glasgow to join his ship.” 

“ It does indeed seem hard,” sighed Mrs. Rim- 
ington, glancing fondly at her son. “ He hasn’t 
been six weeks in England ; and if Mary and I 
hadn’t come up here, we should hardly have seen 
him at all.” 

“Nonsense, mother,” laughed Rimington. “It’s 
an ill wind that blows nobody good ; and if I 
hadn’t been qualifying to serve my Queen and 
country on board the gunboat, we should have 
all stayed vegetating down at Whitby, and then 


170 


OGILVIE WIIITTLECHURCH. 


you and Mary would never liave seen Edin- 
Lurgh.” 

“Do ’* '^e at Whitby, Mrs. Rimington?” 



My father has just taken a 


asked 


house there, in North Crescent. 1 hope we are 
neighbors ? ” 

“ In North Crescent ! Oh yes, we are neigh- 
bors, and very near ones too. We live just at 
the end of North Crescent, at Rose Cottage. I 
hope we shall prove good neighbors, and that we 
shall see you there.” 

“ Well, I had no idea that you were a Whitby- 
ite. Forward,” said Rimington. “ Wliy, 1 believe 
that the world grows smaller every day. I never 
thought very much of our planet after my first voy- 
age to Australia, but lately I’ve positively got to 
despise it. — Hullo ! here comes lunch at last. 
Hadn’t we better set to work? It would never 
do to be late for the launcli.” 

When they went out after lunch, the last prep- 
arations were being made round the caisson. 
Rimington, as became liis profession, was chiefly 
interested in the actual launching arrangements ; 
so was his mother. So, while these two were in- 
specting sluices and chocks, rollers and tackles, 
and the rest of the attendant paraphernalia, 
Ogilvie, as an engineer, was able to explain to 
Miss Rimington the construction and use of the 
caisson itself. And so interested and attentive 
did he find his pupil, that lie went on to instruct 
her in the principles of the “ cantilever ” system 
of bridge-construction, demonstrating its advan- 
tages and picking out its weak points most im- 
partially. The conversation, however, was dis- 
turbed soon afterwards by the very event which 
they had come to see — the launch of the caisson. 


OGIL VIE WHITT LECH URCH. 


171 


Everything worked perfectly ; and in a few 
minutes, amidst the hurrahs of the workmen, the 
great machine was quietly floating in the firth, 
ready to be towed off to ite position, and sunk. 

Having taken leave of the liimingtons, who 
were going back to Edinburgh, Ogilvie crossed 
the Forth by the ferry-boat, and, pipe in mouth, 
resumed his tramp. When a man smokes, he 
meditates ; it’s a law of nature. If his tobacco 
be ordinary, his meditations have a tendency to 
be practical ; if good, they are more inclined to 
be abstract and philosophical. Now, Ogilvie ’s 
tobacco was good, and before he had walked a 
mile, he had satisfactorily established the hypoth- 
esis, that the pleasantest people are always 
those whom one meets unexpectedly ; but then 
he was not thinking of MiUer. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ Keep her as she goes, Mr. Rimington, and 
get a small pull at the weather-braces if the wind 
draws aft. If it draws aft much, you can set 
studding sails.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” replied Rimington, second mate 
of the Maharanee clipper, and who was then on 
watch. 

“ But if we only have a little luck, we’ll be 
first ship home ; I’d bet a year’s pay on it,” said 
the skipper as he went down to his cabin by the 
after-hatchway after giving the above directions. 

Tliey had just caught the south-east trade, 


172 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


after rounding the Cape, homeward-bound from 
China, with tea and one passenger ; and, as the 
captain had said, it seemed by no means unlikely 
that they would be the first of that year’s tea 
ships — not steamers, of course, — to take the pilot 
on board in English waters. But everything 
depended on crossing the line. If they were 
lucky enough to get a puff to carry them across 
the “ Doldrums,” it was a certainty. If not — 
well, they must hope that the others would suffer 
the same delay. 

Rimington paced the poop, pipe in mouth, oc- 
casionally giving a critical glance at the main 
royal, and longing to get that little pull of the 
weather-braces ; but each time that he looked, 
the shaking of the weather-leech told him plainly 
tliat nothing must be touched. It was two bells 
(nine o’clock), and his watch would be over at 
midnight. But he was not particularly anxious 
for that. There was no great hardship in pacing 
the poop and smoking his pipe in the soft moon- 
light ; while the balmy air, set in gentle motion 
by the southern trade, fanned his cheek and 
filled the sails ; and the ship, just heeling to its 
tender caress, except for an occasional gurgle 
under the bows, slipped noiselessl}'’ through the 
water. 

Presently he was joined by the passenger, Mr. 
Parkins. The latter was a man with whom 
things had gone well. He had originally gone 
out to China to take up a post in the Customs, 
tlien, as now, chiefly administered by Europeans. 
His duties, however, were not so arduous but 
that he was able to carry on a certain amount of 
business on his own account. The Flowery 
Land at that time presented a grand field for an 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCR. 


173 


enterprising man ; and by unflagging diligence, 
aided by a few lucky speculations and a natural 
aptitude for business, he found himself in a few 
years, and while still quite young, one of the 
richest tea-merchants in Shanghai. He had re- 
signed his Customs appointment some time ago, 
and was now going to revisit his native country. 
He had intended to take a berth on board one of 
the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s splendid 
steamships ; but chancing to light on his old 
schoolfellow and chum, Rimington, serving on 
board the Maharanee^ he had changed his mind 
and taken passage in her instead. 

The two friends continued for some time to 
walk about in silence ; then Parkins said : “ It’s 
a strange chance that has brought us together, 
old chap. I suppose that if I had been asked, 
there is no one in the world whom I should have 
said that I thought I was less likely to meet 
walking along the jetty at Slianghai than your- 
self. You never used to talk about going to 
sea.” 

“No; I never had any intention of doing so; 
in fact, when we knew each other, I don’t think 
we either of us troubled much about professions. 
On the whole. I’m not sorry that things have 
turned out as they have. A sailor’s life is a 
hard one; but there are a good many worse; 
and if you don’t stop my heaven-born right to 
growl at anything and everything I have to do, 
I can jog along very happily. Every one can’t 
be a Croesus like you.” 

“ No ; I suppose not. Certainly, I have been 
very lucky. It would be interesting to know 
what has happened to all the other Olswick fel- 
lows. — By the way, there is one especially I want 


174 OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 

to speak to you about. Do you remember a 
little chap called Whittlechurch, who was ex- 
pelled? Wasn’t his Christian name Ogilvie?” 

“ Yes ; it was. — What about him ? ” 

“ Well, it’s rather a long story, and a very 
curious one. — Wait a minute, till I get a light.” 

“ Right you are,” said Rimington ; “and mean- 
while I’ll get the yards in a bit. — Watch, round 
in! Weather-braces! Come along there ; shake 
up, shake up ! ” 

For a few moments the watch could be seen 
moving about the deck in obedience to the order, 
while the blocks creaked and the yards were 
trimmed. Then all was quiet again. 

“ Finished, old chap?” 

“ Yes. — Now, let’s have your yarn.” 

“ Most of my property,” said Parkins, “ as you 
know, is some way in the interior ; and last tea- 
harvest I went to inspect some improvements 
which I had had made on one of my estates, up 
the Chongokiag. I reached the place by a little 
steam-launch, without any misadventure ; but 
when we started to come back, we found that 
one of the cylinders was out of order and could 
not be used. I didn’t care to take a passage 
down in a junk, so there was nothing for it but 
to wait. The engineer said he should be about 
three days repairing the damage ; and for want 
of a better way to spend the time, I decided to 
visit Wangtsing, the capital of the province and 
the seat of government. I found it the most 
thoroughly Chinese place that I had ever seen. 
Not a single mission has managed to build a 
church there, and I don’t suppose that there are 
half-a-dozen Europeans in the whole place. It so 
happened that I arrived at a very opportune 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


175 


time : the whole town was en fete, and a long 
procession was being formed to meet and wel- 
come the governor’s army, which was returning 
victorious from an expedition against some 
pirates, and was expected back that evening. 1 
had heard something about these pirates at 
Shanghai, and knew that the expedition was the 
result of several very urgent remonstrances 
made by the Western ambassadors to the gov- 
ernment at Pekin ; and I was heartily glad to 
hear that it had been successful.” 

“ I heard of them too,” said Rimiiigton. “But 
I fail to see the connection between a nest of 
Chinese pirates and our old schoolfellow, Ogilvie 
Whittlechnrch. — What are you doing with the 
helm down there? Keep her away, man, can’t 
you? Give her the helm! You’ll have the 
ship aback in a minute. — Who is that at the 
wheel ?— Miller?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Let me recommend you to keep your eyes 
open, then.” 

“ He's a good enough seaman, as a rule,” ex- 
plained Rimington ; “but they all go to sleep on 
a calm night, if you don’t look out. — However, 
to continue your yarn. I had just said that I 
didn’t see what the pirates could possibly have 
to do with Ogilvie Whittlechurch, or Ogilvie 
Whittlechurcli with the pirates. 

“ Wait a minute, old fellow ; I am just coming 
to it.” 

“ Well, that evening, sure enough, the army 
did come back, and with such a beating of drums 
and waving of banners as you never saw in all 
your life. A Chinese soldier is a rare hand at 
that sort of thing, if at nothing else. Then there 


17G 


OGILVIE WHITTLEGIIURCH. 


\vas a whole wagon-load of heads ; and two of 
the pirates’ prisoners whom they had rescued, 
and who were carried in litters. One of these 
litters contained an old Chinese merchant who 
had been captured on board one of his own junks, 
and who, except for a good fright, was very little 
the worse for what he had gone through. The 
other, an Englishman, was Ogilvie Whittle- 
church’s father.” 

“ Whew ! How did you find out that ? ” 

“ From the man’s own mouth. ' The governor 
sent me a message that a fellow-countryman was 
dying at the palace, and would like to see me. I 
found the poor fellow worn down to a shadow 
with fever, and obviously at his last gasp. He 
seemed to have something on his mind that he 
wished to tell me ; but it was perfectly awful 
to listen to him trying to speak while his voice 
came and went spasmodically — interrupted every 
minute by terrible fits of coughing. The gist of 
what he said was this : His name was John 
Whittlechurch. When he was young, he had 
been a bad lot — a drunkard, by what I could 
make out ; then he emigrated to America, leav- 
ing his wife and her baby in England. For a 
long time he seems to have got on no better in 
the new country than he did in the old ; but a 
few years ago he had a stroke of luck at the dig- 
gings, and became a millionaire. He then started 
to come home, westward, to try to find his wife 
and child ; but the ship was wrecked in the China 
seas, and all who escaped the waves were cap- 
tured by the pirates. Before leaving America, 
however, he had taken the precaution to make a 
will, which he left with his solicitors at Sacra- 
mento. In it he left everything to his wife, to 


OGILVJE WHITTLECHURCn. 


177 


go to his son Ogilvie at her death. In case neither 
should be found, everything was left to a certain 
Pedro Bersano, who seems to have been a sort of 
banker at the diggings, and who on this condi- 
tion had advanced him money to carry on dig- 
ging his claim.” 

“ What usury ! I suppose the fellow is a 
thorough scoundrel.” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder. Anyway, he seems either 
to have done fairly well out there, or else to have 
made the place too hot to hold him ; for he has 
gone to London, so the dying man told me. His 
present address is “The Californian Club,” near 
Leicester Square.” 

“Humph! I’ll bet he’s a rascal. — But wait 
half a minute, old chap ; ” and so saying he walked 
to the compass — the ship was two points off her 
course. This was too much for Rimington’s 
patience, and he told the helmsman so in no very 
gentle language ; threatening, if he had again to 
find fault with him during the watch, to give him 
an extra trick to practice in. Having thus given 
vent to his indignation, he returned to where his 
friend was standing and resumed the conver- 
sation. 

“Did he give you no details by which to trace 
his wife and son ? ” 

“No. I think that he wanted to; but his 
strength was quite used up in telling me as much 
as he did, and he died in my arms not an hour 
after I had come in.’’ 

“ But how do you know that the Whittlechurch 
we were at school with is the man you want.” 

“ I can’t be certain, of course ; but Whittle- 
church is such an uncommon name, and so is 
Ogilvie as a Christian name, that I hardly think 


178 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCn. 


there can be two. Besides, the age seems about 
right.” 

“ Well, there should be no difficulty in finding 
him. We can trace him from the school. And 
then, even if he is not the man himself, he must 
surely be a cousin. I suppose you told the 
lawyers all you knew ? ” 

“ Yes ; and they sent me a telegram to say that 
they were employing a detective in London to 
make inquiries.” 

“ Well, I wish a relative of mine would die 
a millionaire and make me his heir. — And now, 
I think I’ll try how the topmost studding-sail 
stands. — No; I won’t, though; it’s just eight 
bells. The other watch can do it when they 
muster.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Maharanee did win the race, and now 
lay safely secured alongside the wharf. The crew 
have gone ; and the officers, who are now at 
breakfast in the cuddy, have only to send in their- 
store accounts and turn the ship over to the 
owners’ agents, before they, too, will be free to 
go home. 

The post has brought Rimington two letters. 
The one he opens first is in a lady’s handwrit- 
ing : 

Rose Cottage, Monday. 

Dear Old Georgie — Why don’t you come 
home ? Mother and I go to the station about 
six times a day. I try to impress on her that 
you’re not worth it ; but I know we shall go on 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCn. 


179 


doing so until your majesty deigns to honor us 
with your presence. But your poor sister’s spirit 
is not yet quite crushed, and she doesn’t mean to 
wear out her best pair of shoes for nothing. So 
be advised in time, sir. Take the first train 
north, and throw yourself on tlie mercy of the 
court. Remember the cold pigs that somebody 
got last year. — Mr. Forward, whom you intro- 
duced to us in Scotland, has been here a good 
deal when he has been on leave. His father is 
the nicest old gentleman you ever saw. They have 
been awfully kind to us, and take us out in a 
little yacht of theirs. We went to Robin Hood’s 
Bay in her last week ; it was so jolly ! Colonel 
Forward says that he hopes you will come in her 
a lot, if you do not have enough of the sea at 
other times. — The post is just going, so I must 
make this letter a short one, and say good-bye. — 
Your affectionate sister, Maky. 

The other letter was from Parkins: 

Grand Hotel, Monday, Sept. 12. 

Dear Rimington— It seems that we were en- 
tirely on the wrong scent. Our Ogilvie Whittle- 
church is at present in a solicitor’s office. His 
father and mother are both alive, and he has no 
first-cousins. He is going to look me up to- 
morrow. Come and lunch with us at one o’ clock. 
— Yours very sincerely, John Parkins. 

P.S . — Where the right man is remains a mys- 
tery. 

Rimington had a good deal to do that forenoon, 
and could not help arriving rather later than the 


180 


OGILVIE WHITTLECBURCE. 


hour which Parkins had named. He found them 
waiting lunch for him. It was so long since he 
had seen Whittlechurch, that it required some 
effort of memory to recall his appearance ; but 
this made he fancied that in the young man be- 
fore him he could still trace some resemblance 
to the little fellow he had known so long ago at 
school. 

Lunch was served in the dining-room, and 
afterwards they retired to Parkins’ sitting-room 
for cigars and coffee. During lunch the conver- 
sation had been chiefly about Parkins’ adventure 
at Wangtsing, and now it again drifted back to 
the same topic. 

“ Well,” said Parkins, “ this shall be a warn- 
ing to me never again to confuse probability 
with certainty. That there should be another 
Whittlechurch in the world was only likely ; 
but that there should be another Ogilvie Whittle- 
church of about jmur age, not a relation, I thought 
impossible.” 

“But I have suspected his existence for a long 
time, ” quietly put in the young solicitor. 

“ You have ! exclaimed at once both Riming- 
ton and Parkins. 

“ Yes. Don’t you remember that when I was 
kicked out of Olswick, old Layiton said that he 
had seen my name cut on one of the apple trees 
I was supposed to have robbed. ” 

“ But hadn’t you been there ? ” asked Parkins. 

“ No, I had not ; and to this day I remember 
my indignation when the doctor refused to be- 
lieve me. The question then arises : how did the 
name get there ? And to this question there are 
only two possible answers. Either one of the 
fellows at school owed me a grudge, and carved 


OGILVIE WHITTLECIIURCH. 


181 


it ; or else some one of the same name had been 
in that very orchard the same afternoon. A cynic 
would say that the first answer was the more 
likely; but I prefer to believe tlie second.” 

“There are blackguards everywhere,” said 
Rimington. “But if a fellow did carve your 
name, and then allowed you to be expelled with- 
out saying a word, he must have been a very 
black sheep indeed. Why, a fellow who could 
do a thing like that as a youngster, would have 
murdered a man or robbed a bank before he was 
twenty. Under ordinary circumstances, how- 
ever, I should be inclined to accept the first 
theory. That there should be another fellow of 
your name, and that that fellow should have 
been at a certain place at a certain time, is too 
much to assume. But now the case is altered. 
We know for a certainty that there is, or, at any 
rate, that there was, another Ogilvie Whittle- 
church. Is it, then, more likely that this indi- 
vidual was at a certain place at a certain time, or 
that one of the Olswick fellows was, for his age, 
one of the most utter sneaks and blackguards 
that ever stepped? — What do you say. Par- 
kins ? ” 

“ I won’t venture an opinion ; but what I will 
do is to write to Pryer the detective, who is 
employed about this; and it will be for him to 
decide whether the trace is worth following up.” 

After some further conversation, Rimington 
and Whittlechurch took leave of their host, who 
promised to write and inform them of anything 
which happened in the matter. 

From the Grrand Hotel in Northumberland 
Avenue to Gatti’s caf^ at Charing Cross is not 


182 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCB. 


five minutes’ walk ; yet, wlnl« Parkins and his 
friends were still sitting over their coffee at the 
former establishment, INIr. Pedro Bersano, at the 
latter, was waiting for Charles Miller, able sea- 
man, who was to meet him there at three o’clock. 
Thus does chance delight in ‘ impossible ’ coin- 
cidences. While, however. Parkins, Rimington 
and Whittlechurch were quite disinterested 
parties, actuated solely by a not unnatural desire 
to follow to its conclusion, and, if possible, facil- 
itate the unravelling of a mystery which had 
been so remarkably thrust under their notice, 
Mr. Bersano, on the contrary, had, as we know, 
a very considerable personal interest in the ques- 
tion. Miller also was bent on business, inas- 
much as he had no intention of giving his in- 
formation for nothing. 

“ Gatti’s ” is something of a compromise be- 
tween an English refreshment bar and a conti- 
nental caf^. In shape it is long and somewhat 
narrow, its greater dimension being parallel to 
Villiers Street. Entering at the end nearest to 
tlie river, there is a door on the left leading into 
the restaurant. Then comes the bar, which ex- 
tends about half the length of the room. On a 
level with the upper end of the bar there is a 
sort of semi-partitio.n, which more or less divides 
the room into two parts. Above this, again, is 
the door which leads to the ladies’ cloak-room 
on the left. Behind the bar, two Hebes are in 
attendance ; and an Italian waiter looks to the 
wants of those visitors who prefer to patronize 
the numerous little marble tables which are 
scattered, in true Neapolitan style, about the 
apartment. 

When Mr. Bersano arrived, it wanted ten min- 


OGILVIE WHITTLECIIURCH. 


183 


utes to three, and the caf4 was absolutely de- 
serted. He called for a tankard of lager ^ and sat 
down at a table opposite the bar. He had not 
long to wait. At about five minutes to three, 
Miller entered by the upper door, glanced round, 
and then accosted him : “ Are you Mr. Ber- 
sano ? ” 

“ I am. — And you, I presume, are Mr. Mil- 
ler? — Come over here.” So saying, he led the 
way to the fartlier corner of the room, where they 
would be out of hearing of any stray customers. 

“ Now, what is your business ? ” 

“ I’m thirsty.” 

“ Porter ? ” 

“ To begin with.” 

The porter was brought and paid for, then 
Bersano continued : “ You say that you have 

information of great importance to me. What 
is it?” 

“ ’Tain’t nothing to be given away.” 

“ Indeed ! And may I ask the reserve price ? ” 

“ A hundred pounds.” 

“ You are drunk.” 

“ And yet, I don’tspeak so extraordinary thick. 
There’s otliers will give me just as much for it.” 

“Others will give you just as much, will 
they ? In what way does your information con- 
cern me?” 

“ ’Twouldn’t do you any ’arm if a certain 
Ogilvie Whittlechurch was found, by any chance, 
would it, mister ? ” 

Cool and sharp-witted as he was, Bersafio 
could not help an involuntary start at this sen- 
tence. The man evidently did know something, 
and lie had not come on a fool’s errand, after all. 
Instantly recovering himself, he replied: “ True ; 


184 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHUBCH. 


it will be slightly to my advantage if they fail 
to find him.” 

“It would make you a millionaire? ” 

“Well, not quite; but I have yet to learn in 
what way you can be of service to me in the 
matter. So far you have told me nothing that I 
did not know already.” 

For reply, the other tapped his tankard. 

“ More porter? ” 

“ Rum. — Ah ! that’s more warmin’. ’Ere’s at 
yer, mister.” 

“Well?” 

“ I can give yer the whereabouts of this chap 
for a hundred quid ; and if yer don’t like that — 
well, I’ll give ’im the straight tip about the 
will.” 

“ I conclude, however, that he knows his own 
name, and will be fast enougli to answer when 
they advertise for him.” 

“ Young men don’t read the papers — least- 
ways, not carefully — and there ain’t nobody but 
an old bloke to point it out. You see, ’e don’t 
call ’imself Ogilvie Whittlechurch.” 

“Well, I accept your terms. When I have 
your information, I will give you a hundred 
pound.” 

“Yes? — I don’t think. We’ll put it t’other 
way, please. You shell out the shiners — then 
I’ll spin the yarn.” 

“ As you will. But I don’t carry the Bank of 
England about with me, so you must come to my 
rooms.” 

Both men were now in earnest. As soon as 
they were safely in one of Bersano’s rooms, he 
produced without further haggling a cash-box, 
from which he took fifty sovereigns and five ten- 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH 


185 


pound Bank of England notes, and handed them 
to Miller. 

The latter then proceeded to give his informa- 
tion, which he did faithfully and fully and with- 
out omitting a single detail ; and explained also 
how the story of tlie will, and Bersano’s address, 
had come to his eai-s. 

The other had grasped the situation before he 
had half finished, and was busy maturing a 
scheme of action while he listened. A shrewd 
unscrupulous cosmopolitan, familiar with the 
ways and customs of every state in Europe and 
America, he knew that England was the worst, 
from his point of view, in which this could have 
ha})pened. In France, Germany, or the United 
States of America, his course would have been 
simple. He would have introduced himself to 
Forward under an assumed name, picked a quar- 
rel with him, and shot him. In other parts of 
America, a hundred dollars would have paid for 
a few inches of steel, which would have done the 
business with even less trouble. But in Eng- 
land — in England, one has to be discreet in 
these little matters. However, something must 
be done. 

When Miller had finished, he was rising to go. 

“Stay,” said the other, looking at him fixedly. 
“ You have been of great service to me, but you 
can be of greater service still.” 

“’Ow’s that?” 

“You say that he lives at Whitby ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ The cliffs are high on that coast ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And overhanging ? ” 

“ In some places. — Why ? ” 


186 


OGILVIE WllITTLECHURCH. 


“Merely curiosity. But you must be thirsty. 
I have some excellent brandy in the cupboard 
liere ; will you try a glass ? ” 

Miller nodded. 

“Water?” 

“ No.” 

“ I see you appreciate it. — Have another ? ” 
And without waiting for a reply, he refilled the 
glass. Then he continued : “ Let’s see wlmt was 
it we were talking about? — Oh yes, the cliffs at 
Whitby — I wonder if people often fall over 
them ? — I wish this fellow would ; but of course 
he won’t. I would give a thousand pounds to 
know that he had done so.” 

Their eyes met. 

“ Make it two.” 

“ I will draw you a check for fifteen hundred, 
dated ten days hence. If the account of a certain 
dreadful accident does not appear in the papers 
before that date, it will be stopped.” 

“ And if ’e ain’t at Whitby ? ” 

“ Well, then he might possibly fall over a cliff 
somewhere else, or even into a canal — life is so 
uncertain.” 

Two days after this interview, George Riming- 
ton was able to leave London for the North, and 
arrived at Whitby station at about nine o’clock 
in the evening. It was rather more than two 
miles to Rose Cottage ; but, feeling rather stiff 
and cramped after his journey, he chose to walk, 
notwithstanding that the night was stormy and 
threatened rain. In view of the latter, he took 
the precaution to put on a big Flushing overcoat, 
which was strapped up with his rug. It was a 
good thick coat, an old friend, which had stood 


OGILVIE WUITTLECllURCH. 


187 


him in good stead on many a cold night-watch, 
and was fitted with an enormous hood, that ren- 
dered its wearer completely secure from the fury 
of the elements. He took a handbag with him, 
and left directions for the rest of his luggage to 
be forwarded in the morning. 

It was indeed a terrible night ; and the 
weather was rapidly becoming worse. The wind 
blew in sudden gusts over the cliffs fiom sea- 
ward, while at the foot of them the angry waves 
broke with a deafening roar, which promised but 
little mercy to any ship which, through bad 
seamanship or unfortunate circumstances, should 
be wrecked that night upon the coast. Happily, 
the quiet which reigned both at the lifeboat shed 
and the rocket-apparatus house was a sign that, 
as yet, at any i-ate, no vessel had fallen a prey 
to the tempest. 

His thoughts as he walked turned naturally to 
the home he was approaching, and to his mother 
and Mary. Who but a sailor can appreciate that 
word home in its true sense ? In all his wander- 
ings, in all his hardships, the thought ■ of it is 
there, shining ahead like a guiding star, a beacon 
of hope. Coming up Channel on a dirty night, 
the wind cutting him like a knife, the snow 
blinding him, and with every chance of a col- 
lision at any moment, he remembers that he is 
only a few hours off England, and the thought 
cheers him up. Rimington knew that they were 
not expecting him till the next morning, and he 
amused liimself by thinking of their surprise when 
he turned up. He pictured to himself his mother, 
sitting in her armchair by the fire, with Mary on 
the rug at her feet, working or reading aloud. 
Then would come his knock at the door, and 


188 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHUltCJI. 


they would wonder who it could be at that time 
of night. But their wonder would not be for 
long. Mary would have guessed that it must be 
him, and be peeping from the top of the stairs 
when the maid let him in. Then what a kissing 
and hugging and asking of questions ! How he 
would enjoy his supper that evening, and his 
pipe after it, sitting with his mother and sister 
by the fire. He was now nearly there ; and just 
as he arrived at the little iron gate leading into 
the garden, he was rather surprised to hear, 
during a temporary lull, the sounds of a piano, 
and — yes, there was no doubt about it — a man’s 
voice singing to its accompaniment. Who on 
earth could it be ? He remained listening for a 
few seconds with the gate open, and was just going 
to reclose it after him, when, as he turned to do 
so, his attention was drawn to the figure of a 
man standing a little way off in the path along 
which he had just come. There would have 
been nothing very strange in this, but that he 
had happened to notice on his way that he was 
the only individual on the cliff. 

“ Some one who has walked across the com- 
mon, I suppose,” he thought, “ to see whether 
there is a wreck, and get a blow through.” 

Just then, however, to his intense astonish- 
ment, he saw the man deliberately lie down on 
the ground. “ By Jove !” he thought, “the fel- 
low’s in liquor. I can’t leave him there, or he’ll 
either die where he lies before morning, or else 
wake up and fall over the cliff.” So, hastily re- 
closing the gate, he started forth, like a good 
Samaritan, to rescue the unfortunate wight from 
his perilous position. 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


189 


CHAPTER V. 

Before Rimington had gone many yards in the 
direction of the cliff the moon became obscured ; 
but he was able to make pretty straight for where 
he had seen the man lie down. In a few minutes 
lie espied him, lying like a log, a few paces on 
liis right. He advanced, and was just stooping 
down to shake him to his senses, when the seem- 
ing inebriate jumped up, and, springing at him 
with all his force, endeavored to throw him over 
the cliff. 

On occasions like this, ideas rush through the 
brain with lightning-like rapidity, time, indeed, 
being almost a negligible quantity. But, though 
the thinking powers are at a maximum, the capaci- 
ty for putting the thoughts into practice and 
profiting bytlie conclusions arrived at, becomes 
almost nil. The brain, so to speak, divides from 
the nerves, which, since they can no longer keep 
pace with it, it leaves behind, and rushing on 
through, it may be, an analysis of the circum- 
.stances, it may be a retrospect of previous events, 
leaves to the inferior organs, backed up by a sort 
of instinct, the practical task of saving the whole. 
Sooner or later, however, the normal condition 
of affairs is resumed, and all the faculties, mental 
and physical, act once more in unison. The time 
it takes for this to happen varies with the indi- 
vidual. It seldom exceeds a second or two, and 
its length may be said to be more or less a gauge 
of his practical character and fitness for respon- 


190 


OGILVIE WIIITTLECHURCH. 


sibility. In plain English, it is nothing more 
or less than the time he takes to regain his pres- 
ence of mind 

With Rimington, accustomed and trained to act 
promptly in emergencies, that time was almost 
inappreciable ; but short as it was, it had sufficed 
for him to recognize Miller, able seaman in the 
Maharanee^ to speculate on his motives, and come 
to the conclusion that he must either be the vic- 
tim of a drunkard’s frenzy or of mistaken iden- 
tity. Soon, however, these speculations ceased, 
and all his energies were enlisted in the desperate 
struggle, on which, it seemed, depended his very 
life. Both men were strong, and at first the 
contest was fairly equal. Rimington, however, 
was encumbered by his thick greatcoat, and this 
told on him more every second. He felt that 
he was being slowly but surely forced nearer the 
edge of the cliff. So far, the struggle had been 
carried on in silence ; now he shouted for help. 
With an oath, his opponent tried to put his hand 
over his mouth, and, in so doing, partially threw 
back his hood. Just before, he had been gather- 
ing himself together for a final throw ; but when 
he saw Rimington’s features, he suddenly started 
back, paused a second, and then saying, “ Great 
God ! it’s Mr Rimington,” made off at the top of 
his speed. 

“ Hi ! Stop him ! help ! ’ cried Rimington, giving 
chase, for he had no nund to let him off so easily. 

“ Hullo! What is it?” cried a voice from the 
direction of Rose Cottage. 

It was that of a young man, who, seeing how 
things were, ran to cut off the fugitive. He 
judged his direction well, and at first it looked 
as if, between the two, Miller would be secured. 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCIL 


191 


The latter, however, had a good start o^ the 
stranger, and was greatly assisted by the dark- 
ness of the night. He was also a good runner, 
so that, although the chances seemed against him 
at first, he managed to give both his pursuers 
the slip. 

The latter now turned to speak to each other. 
“ Hullo ! Rimington,” cried Forward ; “ I’m 
awfully glad to see you back. — But what on 
earth has been happening ? ” 

“ That’s more than I can tell you,” replied the 
other. “At least, if I can tell you what has 
been happening, I certainly can’t imagine why 
it has happened. I walked home from the station ; 
and just as I got to the door, I saw a man — tipsy, 
as I thought — close to the edge of the cliff. I 
went to see what I could do for him ; but I soon 
found that the obligation was more likely to be 
on other side — he very nearly did for me.” 

“ How?” 

“ Simply enough. He tried to throw me over 
the cliff. Indeed, I thought he would have done 
it, too ; but luckily for me, just as I thought 
that it was all up, my hood got shoved aside, 
and he recognized me, started back as if he had 
been shot, and ran away. So here I am, all over 
mud, and very glad that it’s no worse.” 

“ You say that he recognized you. Do you 
know the man, then ? ” 

“ Yes, I do ; and that is the strangest part of 
it all. He was a seaman in the Maharanee^ 
a man called Miller.” 

“ Charles Miller ? ” 

“ Yes. — Why, do you know him ! ” 

“ I do know something of him, and what made 
me ask was that I thought I recognized him as he 


192 


OGILVIE WHITTLECnURCH. 


was running across the common. — What are you 
going to do now ? — Inform the police ? ” 

“ Well, I really scarcely know. It all seems so 
incomprehensible. He evidently did not wish 
to murder me — that is, when he saw who I was 
— because he could not have had a better chance. 
I can hardly believe that the man goes in for 
highway robbery. He certainly never tried to 
take ray watch. But I suppose that the best plan 
will be to inform the police, as you suggest.” 

“ Approved,” replied Forward, “ with one 
amendment. I am going home, and the police 
station is on my way, so I’ll look out for that. 
You go straight home.” 

“ It’s very good of you. — Thanks, very much.” 

“ Not the least trouble in the world,” said 
Forward ; “ good-night. There is something I 
want to tell you ; but this business ought to be 
done as soon as possible ; and I think that Mrs. 
Rimington will tell you all about it to-morrow 
morning ; so I won’t stay. — Good-night again.” 

“ Good-night.” 

The next morning, when he came down, Rim- 
ington found his mother awaiting him, but not 
Mary. “ Why, mother,” he said, “where’s that 
sister of mine ? I thought that she was an early 
bird.” 

“ Mary won’t be long,” she replied. “ Perhaps 
she knows that I have something to talk to you 
about.” Mrs. Rimington spoke seriously, and 
her son saw that she had something of importance 
to communicate. 

“ What has happened ? ” he asked. 

“ Your friend, Ogilvie Forward, has proposed 
to Mary. She has accepted him, and I have 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHURCH. 


193 


approved of her choice. He spoke to me about 
it yesterday morning, and Colonel Forward was 
here in the afternoon.” 

“ Well, mother,” he replied, as soon as he had 
completed a very long-drawn whistle, “you know 
him better than I do. Still, I have seen quite 
enough of Ogilvie Forward to be able to congratu- 
late Mary from the bottom of my heart, as far as 
his character goes. — But what about his money ? ” 
“ Colonel Forward is very liberal about that. 
He has offered to buy and furnish a house here 
at Whitby, and is going to settle twenty thousand 
pounds on them, in addition to Ogilvie’s present 
allowance, on the day that they are married, it 
might not be thought very much by some people ; 
but our Mary’s husband will be better off in this 
world's goods than her mother was ; and if she 
loves him, and he will make her a good husband, 
what should w'e have to say against it ? ” 

“ It is hard to lose Mary, mother; but, as you 
say, it is her happiness, not ours, that we must 
care about. — What did you tell Ogilvie?” 

“ I gave him my consent, and I answered for 
yours. There was something else which he asked 
me to tell you ; Mary, of course, knows it too. 
He is not really Colonel Forward’s son. Who he 
really is, who his parents were, he does not know. 
The Colonel adopted him from a workhouse in 
the south of England. Of course, it was right of 
him to tell us ; but at the same time we know 
him and like him for himself, and I told him tliat 
it could make no possible difference.” 

“ No, mother; certainly not,” replied her son. 
Then he added, as if struck by a sudden thought : 
“ Did he tell you what his name was originally ? ” 
“ No, dear. — VVliy?” 

^ 13 


194 


OGILVIE WHITTLECHUitCH. 


“ Oil, nothing. I had an idea ; but it is mucli 
too improbable to be worth consideration. I sup- 
pose, though, that his Christian name is the same 
as it was before. — But never mind; here comes 
Mary. — Now, my lady, aren’t you ashamed ot 
yourself? Yes ; it’s no good blushing. Mother’s 
been telling me what you do when I’m at sea. 
Who is going to fill my pipe in future, I should 
like to know? However, I suppose that you 
want to be congratulated ; and, on the whole, I 
think I’ll do so. — Now, go and make the tea.” 

After breakfast, Rimington announced his in- 
tention of going to look up Forward. When he 
arrived at Colonel Forward’s house, the bell was 
answered by Ogilvie himself, but looking so 
strangely disarranged and wild, that he could 
not help asking him if anything was the matter. 

“ Yes; something is the matter,” he replied, 
“ and it has made me the unhappiest of men. — 
But come in, and let me tell you about it.” 

Old Colonel Forward was seated at the break- 
fast-table, from which the remains of that meal 
had not been cleared away. Rising as Rimington 
entered, he shook him by the hand, saying at the 
same time : “ I suppose that Ogilvie has already 
told you about our misfortune ? Poor boy, it is 
hard for him to bear. For myself, it does not 
matter ; but for your sister and him it is hard, 
very hard.” 

“ No, sir,” replied Rimington ; “ I don’t know 
what your trouble is ; but it must be very great 
to affect you thus.” 

“ This, then, will tell you,” said the old man, 
putting into his hand a business-looking letter 
which lay upon the table. It was the announce- 
ment of the failure of a Mining Company. 


OGII. VIE WIUTTLECIIURCII. 


195 


Riinington read it through, and then put it 
down and looked at the colonel for further in- 
formation. 

“ My whole fortune was in that undertaking,” 
he said simply : “ and now my son and I are 
penniless.” 

“ And now,” said Ogilvie, “ you know why 1 
am the unhappiest man in the world. Yesterday, 
I would not have called the Tzar my uncle. Now 
— what is there left for me to do but to tell your 
sister that I have not enough to offer her a meal, 
let alone a roof to ” 

“ But, Forward, you don’t think that Mary, 
you cannot think that she ” 

“ That she would turn me away if I came to 
her a beggar in rags? No; God forbid! But 
in honor 1 cannot now ask her to be my wife. 
You don’t understand how I am placed. It’s 
not as if I had a couple of hundred, or even 
one hundred a year left. Then, with my pay, 
we could live in India, a soldier and his wife ; 
and my father would come too. That was my 
one hope when first this cursed letter came. But 
we shall not have a farthing — literally, not a 
farthing — except this house and the clothes we 
stand in. I must leave the army. — But she will 
wait,” he added passionately. “ Say, as her 
brother, that I may ask her to wait. My father and 
I are going out to Australia and I will work as 
never man worked yet to make a home for him 
and her. — It can gain nothing to put off telling 
her ; I will go at once.” 

“ Wait a minute,” cried Rimington, as Ogilvie 
was leaving the room. “ I can’t tell what, but 
something says that there is yet hope. It is a 
very small chance; but the thought of it crossed 


196 


OGILVIE WIIITTLECnUECH. 


my mind this morning, and I can’t help thinking 
of it. — You were not always called Forward. 
What was your name before ? ” 

“ Whittlechurch.” 

Without saying a word, Rimington burst out 
laughing. IL was now Ogilvie’s turn to look 
surprised. 

“ Why, man, you are a millionaire ! There is 
a fortune waiting for you.” 

“ What ? ” 

“ I mean exactly what I say. There is a for- 
tune waiting for Ogilvie Whittlechurch, and 
there are detectives scouring the country to find 
him — to find you.” 

At this moment there was a ring at the bell, 
and the maid brought in a card : “ Mr. J. Fryer, 
Detective Department, Scotland Yard,” At the 
bottom was written in pencil ; “ To speak with 
Captain Forward on important business.” 

“ Why, here’s the very man ? ” cried Rimington, 
laughing. “He already looks on you as a million- 
aire, and shows it by giving you brevet rank. — 
Well, I’m off, and shall expect you at Rose 
Cottage in an hour’s time at the latest, holding 
your head up with all the dignity of your new- 
found thousands.” 

His first visit was to the police station, where 
some very startling news awaited him. Miller’s 
body had been picked up at the foot of the cliff’s, 
just under a well-known dangerous place, about 
half a mile from where the struggle took place. 
He must have doubled, to throw his pursuers off 
the track, and then, venturing too close, without 
a sufficient knowledge of the neighborhood, have 
slipped and fallen. But the strangest part was 
yet to come. On the body had been found a 


OGILVIE WHITTLEC BURCH. 197 

check for the extraordinarily large sum of fifteen 
hundred pounds, signed Pedro Bersano. 

Then Rimington understood what had hap- 
ened. He asked to speak to the chief inspector, 
who happened to be then at the station. They 
had a long talk in private, of which it is only 
necessary to give the last few words. “ So, 
taking it all together, sir, I don’t think there is 
any case,” said the inspector. “ I suppose that the 
gentleman’s death would be no advantage to this 
Bersano now ? ’ 

“ No.” 

“ Then, sir, I think that the best thing to do 
will be to leave matters as they are. You see 
you have no proof, and the man is out of the 
country by now. If the sailor had actually at- 
tacked your friend, the case would be weak 
enough ; but as it stands, I call it hopeless.” 

Rimington thanked the inspector and walked 
home. 

His mother was sitting in the garden. He 
could see Ogilvie and his sister walking together 
by the sea. 

“ Georgie, ” said Mrs. Rimingtom, “ how long 
shall you have ashore ? ” 

“ Nearly three months.” 

“ I thought so ; and that was why we’ve just 
settled thattlie marriage shall take place towards 
the end of November.” 


THE END. 









I* 




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by her sister, Horatia K. F. Gatty. With portrait and illustrations. 
i2mo. Cloth. $1.00. 

I OB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, THE BROWNIES, AN' 
OTHER TALES. 

JVith illustrations by George Cruikshank. i 2 mo. Cloth. $i.oo. 

A FLATIRON FOR A FARTHING. 

With illustrations. i2mo. Cloth. $i.oo. 

“ Never was there another story-teller like Mrs. Ewing. She has genius. She 
does not use a word too much or a word too little, when she is at her best ; and she 
is at her best very often, although she has written an immense number of tales. 
She does not preach, but her stories are better than sermons. They touch the 
heart, they enlarge the sympathy, they excite -‘very tender and noble emotion, 
they encourage religious feeling, and they deepen scorn for all that is mean and 
cowardly. They have abundance of fresh, delightful fun, and i pathos so true 
and deep that there are many of her stories which it s impossible to read without 
tears. There is nothing forced in her plots >r her style. Her characters are 
natural, human, and have an indescribable charm. Children are delighted with 
her stories, and grown people rank them among the best things in literature. A 
few of her earlier tales lack the ;xquisite grace and marvellous lightness of touch, 
which, however, were to her a gift of nature, and even in her first volume 
(‘ Melchior’s Dream ’) there is work which she has never surpassed in beauty, and 
in the truth and tenderness of its teaching. ‘ Brothers of Pity,’ the leading story 
in a collection of ‘Tales of Beasts and Men,’ is perfect. It is original, quaint, wise ; 
it nourishes everything that is lovely in the character of a child, and gives charming 
glimpses of the grandfather and his library. ‘ Melchior’s Dream ’ is an allegory, 
but one which no reader will find dull. ‘Toots and Boots’ is a humorous cat 
story ; and ‘ The Blackbird’s Nest ’ puts the moral more distinctly than Mrs. Ewing 
often allows herself to do. ‘ J ackanapes ’ and ‘ The Story of a Short Life ’ are gencr 
ally considered the best of her stories, the finest touch of her genius. But ‘ Lob Lie 
by-the-Fire’ should rank with them. The quaint, kind, gentle, innocent little old 
1 adies of Lingborough are as sweet and original and winning as any old ladies to be 
found in the whole range of fiction ; and the pictures of country life are exquisite 
sketches in the Crawford style, but too full ol Mrs. Ewing's own spirit and genius 
to be considered for a moment as imitations. ' Lob’ is a powerful temperance 
story, and one that is wholly free from the taults that make nearly all temperance 
stories undesirable reading for young people, in spite of the important lessons 
they are written to impress. Neither chi. dren noi th*ir elders can r ad too many 
of Mrs. Ewing’s stories Only good can come from them , their influence is 
refining and ennobling "—Boston Correspondent of the Worcester Spy. 


4 


Frank F. Lovell ^ Company s Publications. 


FOR MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. 

By Mrs. E. G. Cook, M.D. A book for all Women. Health and 
happiness for the children (home treatment), and a complete manual 
for the household. 400 pp., i6mo. Cloth. Gilt. Illustrated with 
numerous plates explanatory of the text. $1.50. 

“ The revised and enlarged edition of ‘ For Mothers and Daughters ’ is one of 
the best works of the kind ever published. ♦ ♦ ♦ * The volume has already 
passed through three large editions, and the improvements made for the fourth 
will make it still more valuable and warmly welcomed by that large class who find 
in it the information so greatly needed.” — Egbert Guernsey^ M.D.,New Vnrk City, 

‘‘As I am constantly contending with ignorance of the laws of health in parents, 
and the consequent sufferings and frailties of children, I welcome most heartily 
the revision of Mrs. Dr. Cook’s work, which has already, in its three large editions 
Ilf ‘For Mothers and Daughters,’ done so much good. The knowledge we most 
need is that of ourselves. The cry of the present is for knowledge how to prevent 
our own sickness, and for our children to be well born. It is in answer to this 
•ippeal that this treatise has been sent out. I am sure that every man and womaii 
who reads this book will thank the author for giving, from ripe experience cf over 
a quarter of a century, this vital and all-important information.”— E. Ship~ 
man, M.D.,o/ the Foundlings' Home, Chicago, HI. 

Christian at Work, New York, says “A motherly, sisterly, sensible book.” 
Hew York Times says; “A book of sound advice to women.” Southern World, 
Atlanta, Ga., says: ” We fancy husbands and fathers could appreciate the worth 
to them and their families of the contents of this book. Thousands of copies 
would find their way to the hands of wives, and would constitute a present far 
more acceptable than silks, furs or diamonds.” Hew York Medical says : 

Such books as this are to be welcomed as helpers on in the good cause of 
uplifting and perfecting humanity.” 

YONGE (CHARLOTTE M.). CHILD’S HISTORIES. 

Child’s History of France; i2mo, 288 pp., large type, cloth, 75 
cts. Child’s History of Germany; i2mo, 310 pp., large type, cloth, 
7 5 cts. 


DORI BIBLE GALLERY. 

Bible Gallery of Illustrations and Stories. One large quarto 
volume, including 52 cartoons, and a portrait of Dor6. Very finely 
printed and richly bound, extra cloth, beveled boards, gilt edges, 
gold title and ornamentation, price reduced from $5.00 to $2.50. 

“The beautiful Bible stories gain a closeness of interpretation by the art of 
Ford that no other designer has reached, and thus they more deeply and per- 
manently influence the mind. This book is one of the cheapest and most valuable 
of all this publisher’s cheap and valuable books.”— Boston. 


Frank F. Lovell 6^ Company's Publications. 


5 


SOCIAL SOLUTIONS. 

By M. Godin, Founder of the Familistfere at Guise ; Prominent 
Leader of Industries in France and in Belgium ; Member of the 
National Assembly. Translated from the French by Marie How 
land. I vol. Cloth. i2mo. Illustrated. $1.50. 

The most important work ever written upon the labor question, and the only 
one offering a practical solution of the subject of the relation of Capital to 
Labor. In a notice of the death of tke celebrated author, the New York Tribune 
of January 31, 1888, says : “ The death of Mr. Godin, founder of the famous ‘ famil- 
istfere ’ of Guise, and that of Madame Boucicaut, not long preceding the former, 
bring two of the best -known co-operative enterprises of France to a critical stage. 
It is to be seen now whether these establishments can stand alone, without the aid 
and support of the strong minds that brought them into being. The ‘ familistfere’ 
has long been noted among Socialistic undertakings, but not alone because of the 
number of working people concerned. There are less than half as many as in the 
big Paris shop of the Boucicauts, hardly one-tenth as many as in the Essen works 
of Krupp, which have some co-operative features. The building up of a town 
areund a single great business, and with a special view to the comfort and happi- 
ness of the employes, is becoming more and more a feature of our civilization. Be- 
sides the Guise establishment we have Saltaire. founded by Sir Titus Salt. Essen, 
and in this country Pullman, which, considering its size and the careful provision 
made for the health, comfort and even the pleasures of the employes, is certainly 
not surpassed, if it is equalled, by any similar enterprise in the world, but which 
in its methods is decidedly paternal rather than co-operative.” 


THE CONDITION OF THE WORKING CLASS IN 
ENGLAND IN 1884. 

With Appendix written 1886, and Pr&face 1887. By Frederick 
Engels. Translated by Florence Kelley Wischnewetzky. i vol 
i2mo. Cloth. $1.25. 

A good exhibit is here made of the causes that led to a socialistic orgn''> 
zuion and the line of astion which the founder of Modern Socialism, Karl w 
and the author of this volume followed for more than forty years. Tne princip • s 
ot the order are concisely set forth in the “Communist Manifesto” of 1847. given 
in the preface, which clearly defines them. Mr. Engel’s views and aspirations are 
comprehensive and far-reaching. It appears to him that “the Henry George 
platform, in its present shape, is too narrow to form the basis for anything but a 
local movement, or at best for a short-lived phase of the general movement.” The 
book is one those who would learn what the Socialistic Movement is. from its 
leading friends and advocates rather than from the misrepresentations of its 
enemies, should read and consider. 


6 


Frank F. Lovell Company's Publications. 


WRIGHT. BRICKS FROM BABEL. 

By Julia McNair Wright. Ideal Edition, fine cloth, beveled * 
boards, gilt top. 75 cts. 

“ We know of no book in our language upon the migration of races at all to 
be compared with this. It gives a clear account of -the wanderings and disper- 
sions of descendants of Noah, beginning with the dispersion of Babel, and showing 
the present location of the respective descendants. It is written in a style of 
grand eloquence, which renders the treatment of an apparently dry subject 
deeply interesting reading .” — The Interior. Chicago. 



GRACE GREENWOOD’S STORIES. 

New edition. The volumes are finely printed on heavy paper, 
illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, with ink and gold stamping. 
Volumes sold separately, $1.00. 

I. Stories for Home Folks ; Stories and Sights of France and 
Italy. II. Stories from Famous Ballads ; History of My Pets ; 
Recollections of My Childhood. III. Stories of Many Lands ; 
Stories and Legends of Travel and History. IV. Merrie England ; 
Bonnie Scotland. 

The following favorite volumes are published in cheaper form : 
My Pets, cloth, 60 cts. ; Stories for Home Folks, cloth, 75 cts. ; 
Stories of Travel and History, 60 cts. 

“ Most charming stories, some of them incidents in the lives of the great 
people of the earth, while others narrate events in the life of the author or her 
friends. Some places of intere.st are graphically described as by an eye-witness. 
The stories are equally interesting to old and young, and contain many useful 
bits of information that are thus easily acquired, and will remain with the reader 
for all time.” — Hawkeye, Burlington. la. 


HUGHES. THE MANLINESS OF CHRIST. 

By Thomas Hughes. Cloth. 40 cts. 

The manly author of “ Tom Brown at Rugby,” a favorite writer wherever the 
English language is read, here writes in a common-sense, forceful, and con- 
vincing way of the one ideal man— the lesson of his life for all who aspire to true 
manliness. 


ANDERSEN. 

Fairy Tales and Other Stories. By Hans Christian Andersen. 
In 4 vols., handsome cloth binding. $3.00. 



N o WOMAN CAN AFFORD 
to refuse a fair tria] to an arti- 
cle which saves one-h'alf the time and labor 
of washing^and house-cleaning, and pro- 
duces better results than any soap known. 

Such an article is JAMES PYLE’S 
PEARLINE. The many ftiillions of 
packages of Pearline consumed annually, 
testify to its merits, likewise the many 
imitations ; beware of these, they anni- 
hilate the dirt and the clothing with it. 


LYDIA E. PINKHAM’S 


VEGETABLE COMPOUND 



IS A POSITIVE CURE 

For att those painful Complaints and 
Weahnesae-s so common to out beat 
female population. 

It will cure Mitlrely the worst form of Female 
Complaints, all Ovarian troubles, iuflammailon, 
Ulceration, Falling and Displacements of the 
Womb and the consequent Spinal Weakiicss, and 
Is particularly adapted to the Change of Life, 

It will dissolve and expel Tumors from the 
uterus In an early stage of development. The ten- 
dency to cancerons humors there is checked very 
speedily by its use. It removes faintness, flatu- 
lency, destroys all craving for stimulants, and 
relievos w'eakness of the stomach. It cures Bloat- 
ing, Headaches, Nervous Prostration, General De- 
bility, Sleeplessness, Depression, and ImUgestlon. 

That feeling of bearing down, eausing pain, 
weight and backache, is always permanently ciued 
by Its use. 

It will at an times and under all clrcumstanhes 
act In harmony with the laws that govern the 
female system Pot the cnrg/if Kidney Complaints 
of either se.x, this Compound Is nnsnrpassed. 


Uvdla E. Plnkham’s Vegptablo Compound la prepared at Lyim, Mass. Price, 

Hx bottles for S5.00. Sent by mall In the form of Pills, also on* 

)f prlpe, $1,011 per box, for either. Send for pamphlet. All letters of Inquiry piomptly an- 
iwered. Address as above. 



The larger picture is a view of Old Federal Hall, New York, where Washington was 
inaugurated, as it appeared when Colgate & Co. was established. The smaller picture 
represents the present surroundings of the same location. 

1 li« growth of Colgate & Co. has kept pace wifli the remarkable expansion of New 
^oik City, and as a result, Colgate’s Soaps and Perfumes are now sold in all, civilized 
countries, are acknowledged the standard for jmrity and excellence, and have received 
30 first awards as “Unexcelled in qu.ality and fragrance." 












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